A Year in the Life of Dominique Weasley
by Paddington Bear's Friend
Summary: Sixth Year Gryffindor, addicted to menthol cigarettes and Max Wood. Yay.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **January 4th**

9 pm

* * *

"Mon dieu, I can't believe you're actually going to do this Dom."

Victoire cowers from the Jordan's squishy sofa, watching through splayed fingers as Cass prepares the needle. The flame at the tip of her wand licks the metal as it's sterilised and I relax in the hurriedly grabbed kitchen stool.

"Oh my god!" Vic's best friend and Cassie's older sister, Sofia returns to their living room clutching four glasses and two bottles of her favourite white wine.

"Cassandra Jordan do not put that needle into Dom's ear!" She pads across to join Vic on the mismatched sofa, Hamish's old training jersey swamping her thin frame, whilst odd thick socks adorn her feet. She curls up and pulls a scrunchie from Vic's wrist before throwing her brunette lengths into a messy ponytail.

I smirk as Cass replies.

"Oh shush Sof, I did all her other ones."

Victoire and Sofia both squeal in pain as if it's _their_ skin being lacerated instead of mine. It's true, she has done all my other piercing and to her credit only one is slightly wonky, which arguably is my own fault for thinking she had finished before she actually had.

"You guys!" I laugh, "It'll be absolutely fine. And if it's not then we take it out and it closes up!" Victoire mimes vomiting and Sofia shakes her dark head, both resolutely looking anywhere but at me.

"Okay ready Dom?"

I nod, the hastily pulled up ponytail brushing the nape of my neck.

"3, 2,-"

"Arrrrrghhh!" The resounding crunch of people crashing together echoes out.

Cass and I whip around to find Victoire and Sofia in a heap on the floor, laughing manically and clutching saved wine glasses. Victoire had always been a screamer, ever since she emerged into the world as a ready-made golden haired angel.

"Urghh shut up you two. Muffilato."

Praise you beautiful Cassandra Jordan, blissful silence fills the cosy room despite the fact our supposedly more mature sisters are having near fits not 3 feet away.

The countdown begins again;

"3, 2, 1 aaaannd-" A shooting burn travels throughout my right ear lobe as the sharpened metal is pushed through, "Voila! Another perfect piercing by yours truly!"

Cassie dances around, her freckly, lean limbs still so tanned in January, clad in only an over sized Quidditch singlet. Oh the perks of being a famous Sports Commentators equally as sports obsessed daughter. She whips her dark waves back and forth, mimes strumming an air guitar and then bows to the single, but completely over excited audience member. Me.

The newly pierced ear lobe pounds in time with my pulse as I run a hand over the swollen flesh to find the most recent addition to what Grand-Mere lovingly calls 'a junkyard'.

"Let's have a toast!" Cassie holds up the bottle of wine and hands me an overflowing glass, un-silencing our still giggling sisters with a wave of her wand. "To not having men and not needing them!" We all look around a little perplexed until she continues, "Well apart from the fact you have Teddy" she gestures to Vic, "And you have Hamish-" she nods at her sister, "So let's just have a toast for toasts sake. HAPPY TOAST!"

Were it not for the fact that we had already consumed two bottles of gin prior, I'm sure Cassie's speech would have been far more coherent. However we enthusiastically clink our glasses together, the happy drunk fools we are.

* * *

 **January 7** **th**

10 am

* * *

"Ouais Maman! I'm literally just coming!"

I hear her muttering in rapid French and pick up a few choice words which Granny Molly would scrub out with dish soap if she could understand them. Our darling mother, Fleur Delacour-Weasley was born with absolutely zero patience, and less if you were untidily dressed.

I stumble dragging Vic's old trunk, wincing slightly as the weight of it pivots on my heavily laden shoulder. Arguably, including the second cupboard was overkill, but I just couldn't be fucked to figure out what in that mess was of actual worth.

Clattering through the hallway, I stop short of Louis' pile of crazy and drop the demon trunk. Why is Lou taking two owls anyways? I'm sure darling baby boy was gifted two for being just the most wonderful ray of sunshine in the whole freaking world but two seems a little excessive.

If I'm being honest, It still feels so weird that there are only two trunks and not three to confuse. The hallway looks so spacious, despite the copious amounts of nonsense littering the floor and I yearn a little bit for those manic days of old when Daddy would hustle all three of us through the door, keeping Maman sweet with little jokes and kisses.

Vic lounges in the kitchen doorway watching the scene mournfully and wraps two woolly arms around her Weasley sweater clad body before resting a head on the doorframe.

"Dominique, Louis, have you packed everything?"

Mother dearest, however, is not nearly as sentimental when there are still two more offspring to pack off _and_ the craziness of the entire clan to combat when we arrive at the station. Bless her sweet heart, she married into mayhem.

"Oui Mama." Louis and I chorus in perfect harmony, She really did have us trained well. Like obedient sheepdog.

"Je n'en crois pas mes yeux!" Vic laughs before Dad appears behind and places two broad weathered palms on her narrow shoulders.

"English please, my dear."

"Ouais Papa, I was just saying I can't believe my eyes that Lou and Dom may manage to get to school this year without forgetting anything."

She giggles but the despondent expression clouds her face again and a significant look passes between my parents. Dad scoops Vic into his arms and she hugs his middle as they wisely stay outside of the luggage chaos.

"What was it last year Lou? Your wand?"

Louis at least has the brains to look a little ashamed at Victoire's teasing whilst Mum clicks her tongue and Dad winks at him behind her back. I drop my backpack and reach for Vic to say goodbye. She hugs me tightly and I frown as the sharp curve of her hipbone pushes against my tummy. When did that happen?

"Love you, ma grande souer," I whisper into her ear, an old habit we had never grown out of, squeezing her a little tighter.

"Love you, ma petite souer." She hugs me close before whispering, "Tiens – moi au courant, I want to hear all about Max!"

Ha, good one sis. There would be zero development occurring there, of that I am more than sure.

* * *

Somehow we make it to Kings Cross with 20 minutes to spare and are immediately scooped up by the rest of the predominantly ginger unit. Aunt Ginny gives me a long squeeze before slipping a few gallons into my back pocket, all behind Maman's watchful eyes.

"Do get into some trouble Dommy, it keeps me young hearing your mother rant about it."

She grins in her mischievous way before moving on to shower countless kisses on embarrassed Louis' unwilling head, whilst Granny Molly immediately accosts me, my lapse in attention paid for dearly.

"Dominique, are you eating enough? _And_ what are all these piercings? You and your father will be the death of me… How's Vic? Is _she_ eating enough? She looked so thin at Christmas… Maybe I'll pack up a few of her favourite treats and send them back with your mother-"

She's patting me all over and tucking hair behind my ears as she rambles, stopping to inspect the numerous earrings occupying the small area of flesh.

"You listen to me Dominique Gabrielle Weasley, I am not to hear about anymore of your 'adventures' this term, I know your Aunt Ginerva encourages you but you're keeping my hair white with worry!"

I'm uncomfortable as I know how she frets over the expansive brood and have no doubt that I, along with James and Fred, are in the top tier of her concern list. I scuff my boots into the platform, "Yes Gran, I'll try harder I promise."

"Good. Now come give your old Grandma a hug and we'll say nothing more of it."

And with that I know that my casual telling off is over, as Gran never holds a grudge against any of us, despite the number of scrapes we find ourselves in. Sure, she's still annoyed with Maman for allowing Dad to get another tattoo but according to family legend, they'd rubbed each other up the wrong way forever, their casual sniping is almost a comfort now.

Gran kisses my cheek and hugs me tightly, muttering about how I'm "just like Aunt Ginny at this age" which I think that makes her worry a little more as well. But she eventually lets me go and moves onto the next grandchild within arms reach, which unfortunately for them is a bent over James and Fred clutching an object suspiciously similar to a restricted Weasley Wizarding Wheeze's product.

"Frederick Weasley! _What_ is that? James Potter do not start with your stories… now listen here you two, I will not hear about any more letters sent home from that school-"

I laugh and slip away from the undulating sea of family, kissing Maman on both cheeks before falling into a bear hug from Uncle Charlie, surprised he's still around from Christmas.

"Have fun kid and don't stress your mum out too much. She moans to Bill who whines to me, so you're on notice."

I laugh as he ruffles my hair affectionately and then moves on to give Louis a firm handshake before enveloping him too in the bear grip so perfected from years of wrangling dragons.

As he steps away a much smaller family unit is observing our chaos with a friendly, inquisitive look. The matching black trunks neatly stacked around them are each inscribed with a smart family crest and the initials ESB. The woman nervously checking and rechecking each trunk is dressed impeccably, her jangling gold bracelets so heavy on delicate wrists.

"Dom!" Her husband's deep boom rumbles across the platform as he removes both hands from an immaculately pressed navy suit. "How the hell are you?"

This exuberant enthusiasm is probably what I like best about Ava's dad; he is perpetually pleased to see me.

"Very well thank you Charles, how are you?"

"Oh you know me old sport, chugging along. Cecilia's got us in to something called Yoga-" His rosy cheeks crinkle slightly as if the concept still perplexes him, despite his active involvement. "But everything else is grand, Henry's in London with your sister's motley crew and Ava should be around here somewhere…"

We both look round but see no sign of the caramel-haired waif, probably already off finding Cass.

"Dominique, my darling. How are you?"

Ava's mother has finally stopped her frantic double-checking routine and kisses me on both cheeks; her floral perfume a pleasant distraction from the smoky Kings Cross.

"I'm fine thank you Celia, Charlie's been telling me all about your yoga endeavour?"

"Oh Charles, are you still whinging about it?" She slaps him playfully on the arm, a familiar gesture between the two. "Yes my dear, we have indeed started to be more in touch with our natural spirits-"

She witters on in classic Celia style, all about karmic energy as Charles observes her with a dubious expression of unconditional affection.

"I'll put your mother in contact with Alejandro, she will love him, he's just so in touch with the higher energy source."

Charles stifles another booming giggle, as I'm sure he's sharing my mental image of Daddy practicing Yoga.

"Oh yes! That sounds great, she said she was looking for something to get back into shape after Christmas."

Mum had been harping on for weeks about the imaginary weight she gained whilst we visited Grand-Mere and Grand-Pere over Christmas, so I'm sure another fad exercise would help, especially if she and Celia could witter on about it together.

A groan sounds and Ava sidles up next to me, a gentle red flush gracing her freckles.

"Why are you two still talking about Yoga? It was bad enough watching you try to do it…"

"Evangeline, your father and I are just interacting with the positive spiritual forces in the natural world." Celia bows her richly coloured brunette head and clasps two heavily ringed hands together. "Namaste, my darling girl."

"Oh my _god_ " Ava groans once more, whilst I am silently dissolving into unstoppable giggles behind her. "Dom, I'm so sorry." She turns to me and scrunches up her delicate nose, circling a finger next to her head to indicate that her parents were indeed, crazy.

"No, I love it." I giggle out before composing myself. "Namaste Spence."

She throws me a look filled with the promise to kill, and starts counting the trunks before saying her goodbyes.

"Darling promise me you'll write."

Celia kisses her on both cheeks, before running a hand over Ava's gradually reddening cheek.

"Be good, my girl-

Spence embraces her Dad lovingly, a shared understanding between them to curtail the imminent Karmic goodbye speech.

"Namaste, my love!"

"Oh shush woman. You're not Ghandi incarnate." But still, Charles holds a firm arm around Celia's waist as she watches us move away, her watery eyes a clear giveaway.

"Bye Spencer-Brown's, I'll look after her!" My call echoes around the emptying platform as we roll our trolleys towards the baggage carriage.

"We've heard that one before Dominique Weasley!" Ava and I both laugh as we board the Hogwarts Express; Charles William Henry Spencer-Brown, Duke of Devonshire, really was a good sport.

* * *

 **January 7th**

6 pm

* * *

"-So then, Mindy climbs down the side of the house, catches the tube to Camden, forgets Dad can apparate and is dragged home _literally_ kicking and screaming." Ava giggles so hard I'm sure she's wetting herself under the Gryffindor table, and I smile remembering how livid Lee was, having to chase his youngest daughter across London.

"Wait, where were you and Sofia? Surely one of you could have gone and fetched her?"

I cut in as Cass opens her mouth,

"Cass _accidentally_ drank the remaining contents of Granny Molly's Christmas booze and was passed out on my floor, mumbling about someone's beautiful green eyes."

Now usually, Cass's tanned skin wouldn't show a blush if you danced naked with your equally naked grandma in front of it, but she positively maroon-ed at this memory, spluttering out some nonsense about having "never said anything of the sort" and "friends don't let friends drink on empty stomachs."

Pfffft Cassandra Jordan could have eaten an entire years worth of food and it wouldn't have made a dent on the alcohol coursing around her bloodstream.

"So anyway, Dad tries to side apparate her home but she's holding onto a lamp post and almost splinches them both-"

I tune out from the story's continuation, having heard it repeatedly over the holidays, each rendition told with a varying amount of swearing depending on the teller.

The star of the escapade is seated happily at the Ravenclaw table chatting animatedly with Lysander and Lorcan Scamander, gesturing wildly with her thin, freckled limbs. I'm sure her version of that night involved far less wrongdoing on her part.

The Great hall is a literal melting pot tonight, kids from all houses flitting around manically waiting for the gong to sound signalling them back to their own tables. I spy Louis being patted on the back by an older student and wonder what prank he's already pulled with bloody Fred and James, no doubt involving explosions courtesy of Uncle George.

Kit Macmillan listens in carelessly to Cassie's anecdote, smirking slightly as she rattles off the inventive swear words her little sister had screamed through central London. He lazily runs a broad hand through blonde hair and looks to the large double doors again, probably noting the absence of the Wood twins from our little group. Archie and Max always met us at Hogsmeade station as their home in Kinross basically neighboured the village, but they had been no shows when we pulled in and weirdly still absent when we all sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Almost completely identical in looks the Wood boys have Hogwarts wrapped around their little finger. Roguish Scotch charm coupled with the fact their dad Oliver donates heavily to the upkeep and improvement of all our sports facilities, a fact that makes them basically untouchable should the aging Madame Hooch be present.

Kit shuffles in his seat and grins as the first years begin edging in, each tinier than the first. For probably the first time in the school's ancient history there isn't a Weasley child amongst the throng and it feels weird not eagerly waiting to raucously over-cheer as the newest poor family soul is sorted.

"Oh my god, what are they doing?"

I look to where Ava's pointing and see two over-sized first years trying to disguise themselves behind Hagrid as he plods heavily between the tables. I'm pretty sure both the cloaked figures are on their knees as they shuffle jerkily along in his half giant wake and it becomes apparent that they may not be quite so new as my inattentive brain first reckoned.

The group passes by the Hufflepuff table and two Seventh Years clap one hood on the back, their laughter spreading as an apparent joke is shared. It's only as they level with our table that it becomes glaringly obvious that the sliding, bended knee midgets are in fact Max and Archie Wood, outrageously late for the feast.

As they reach us Kit clears a space and the two slide in to a smattering of applause and general laughter from the rest of the hall. Archie looks to Ava sheepishly who reaches across and runs an open palm over his slightly bristled cheek laughing as he kisses her hand with blue chattering lips.

"Oh stop it you two, I know you saw each other last week."

Cassie's tolerance for Personal Displays of Affection was minimal at the best of times and apparently tonight was no different.

"Where have you guys been?!"

The Wood's observe their god sister cautiously; "Well it depends dear Cassandra, whether you are going to blab to your mother who will harp to ours whether we tell you or not."

"I won't say a word! Captain's promise." She uses a code they created as kids to indicate the strongest promise a person could make. Obsessed with pirates they had decided that a Captain would rather die than spill his ship's secrets and thus the phrase was born.

"Well basically, we promised Mum that we'd finish painting the shed before sundown-"

"But then genius twin" Archie jerks his head towards Max, "thought it would be intelligent to fly above the roof, throw the paint on top and then spread it with our wands-"

"It was a good idea Arch! It just needs less paint next time-"

"There's not going to be a next time dipshit!"

Cass is uproariously laughing whilst they stare each other down:

"Anyways, so the paint goes on and we're trying to spread it but I guess the technique was a little off because the paint is covering everything. West Kinross Forest, the bottom Quidditch posts, Dad's training brooms… basically everything is absolutely fucked. So Dad's trying to fix it now and Mum gave us a two hour bollocking." Max shudders as he finishes and Archie winces for it's well known that a Katie Wood bollocking really is a thing to see.

Max eases into conversation with Kit whilst Archie sneakily holds Ava's hand between the dinner plates and Cass bounces a lean leg up and down, no doubt eager for the feast to begin. If it weren't for the tiny differences between the two, Max and Archie would be near perfect copies of each other, alike in almost every way. It takes a little time to notice but Archie's eyes twinkle a very light grey blue whilst Max's are richer flecked with tawny-green inside the irises. And whilst they're both well over 6 feet, with dark, slightly unruly hair; Archie has an inch on his brother, which he makes note of constantly.

However, both are broad in the shoulder with honed, wind-beaten muscles from countless training sessions. Personally, I find the defining factor to be their hands. When they were little Max tried to punch his older brother Hamish and accidentally put his arm through a window, slicing his hand completely open. Now, a thin white scar stretches the length of his right middle finger to his wrist, laced with other pale lines from a wild Scotch boy's childhood adventures in their wooded land. He always says that Lara hates that story, which doesn't surprise me, delicate flower that she is. And in fact, it's only now I notice that Max hasn't scampered off to see Lovely Lara yet. How bizarre.

"Please Minnie, I beg of you, keep this short." Cassie mutters under her breath, as our Headmistress takes to her feet and I resign myself to a little doze before we can finally eat.

Praise the glories of being a self-diagnosed narcoleptic. I can sleep anywhere.

* * *

 **January 12th**

10 pm

* * *

So I realise I never explained who Lovely Lara actually is.

Lovely Lara is one of those girls who sweats sex and looks good doing it. You know the type; they could slip into a room quiet as a mouse, but suddenly there's no one looking anywhere else but them, you included. The room could be pitch black and yet they would burn hot with desire, the peripheral haze of sensuality and want hanging dense on their smooth skin.

I can still remember that for a long time, Vic's friends nicknamed her 'Jail bait' and cursed out the fact that she was _**so**_ much of a woman where they wanted but still too much of a girl where it mattered.

But then summer happened. And summer happened to her hard. If you blinked you'd have missed it, but of course no one blinked when it came to Lara. No one did much but stare when it came to Lara.

She was in the year above us but suddenly she was a world away. The summer after our fourth year, and her fifth, brought with it developments which caused Ava's brother Henry, to bite his figurative fist but literally groan as she slunk past him at Kings Cross. It was his first September as just another hand waving goodbye, rather than a familiarly cheeky face at the Gryffindor table. But to Lara he was simply another male astounded at the luscious span of her hips and curve of her waist.

The worst bit was, that whilst these men fell, Lara blushed. And whilst admirers flocked, she quite literally fled. Vic, bless her sweet soul, went on an absolute rampage after finding Lara distraught in the sixth floor broom closet, because 'Touchy Tim' (substitute teacher from hell) had made a move in one of their remedial potions lessons.

And to be fair, it wasn't like she had asked to mature as quickly as she did, but god knows it was hard to feel empathy when she felled each masculine tree with a quick glance and subtle sway. Arguably, if she was surgically dissected, there's not one singularly, outstandingly beautiful feature to ring the siren bell… but compounded; the rich hair, pillowy, full lips and downy eyelashes are lust incarnate. Now, before I'm accused of anything, I don't wish the witch any harm. In fact, I think the real kicker is that Lara, for all her innate carnality, is a resoundingly lovely person.

Which makes it _reallly_ , really hard to wish her any ill; especially when Max spans a seemingly casual but proudly possessive hand on the arch in her back.

I mean, obviously, the jealousy doesn't stem from it being Max holding her. More the fact that it's overwhelmingly clear he enjoys her for her, rather than her assets. They started dating during our OWL mocks last year and suddenly, the unavoidably lovely Max Wood had claimed his achingly untouchable Aphrodite. They became this perfect image of naïve, lustful infatuation, and fuck me did it burn the back of my eyelids.

And so, during that historically cold winter, Max took up Lara and I took up smoking minty cigarettes on the Astronomy Tower during mealtimes. Ava called them 'bitch sticks' whenever I pulled out the colourful cardboard carton and Cass would laugh, noting how fitting the pairing was.

Max willingly picked his substance to abuse and I picked mine and if I'm honest I'm not really sure which provided the biggest high. If anything, I think I was a little jealous of the hit I knew Lara was ingesting daily. Sure, the memory's a little tattered now from constant dissection, and obviously I know it didn't mean anything. But a one night hit from Max Wood transcends any material high out there. And trust me, I've searched high and low for a similar one.

No, no. That's not right. I've been searching for one better. Or, maybe one worse.

I guess, I'm not really sure anymore.

Given my time again, I would scream at _(only just)_ 15 years old me, I would scream until hoarse with exhaustion:

"Don't lose your virginity to Max Wood."

I would scream at _(only just)_ 15 years old, little lost me:

"Don't lose your virginity to Max Wood, drunk on smuggled fire whiskey (and the fact a boy is finally looking at you the way they look at girls like Lara and Vic)."

And then I would falter, because it's clear that _(only just)_ 15 years old, little lost me is determined to be desirable to someone. To anyone.

"Don't lose your virginity to Max Wood, drunk on smuggled fire whiskey (and the fact a boy is _**finally**_ looking at you the way they look at girls like Lara and Vic) and expect him to be there in the morning."

Because he won't.

And it will hurt you like a fucking bitch.

* * *

 **January 12** **th**

11 pm

* * *

Sorry. Took a ciggie break to calm down.

Yes, I actually am aware that smoking will kill me.

But, you see, the problem with talking about fourth year me, is that it brings with it all this anxiety that I might still be that frightened, unsure girl. I'm not, you know, but it just makes my heart beat a little louder for a moment or two.

However. I majorly digress.

Because apparently the times they are a 'changing. And had Cass not almost wrecked my entire life in one fell swoop, we would have never known it was so.

Beautiful, caring, double-jointed Cassandra Jordan has a tendency to rush into spaces. And this evening, she lived up to her reputation, bursting into the dorm replete with sodden Quidditch Uniform and squelching mud-covered boots.

"Dom, I think I'm dead."

Our Cass can be a little dramatic sometimes.

"Dom. Everything hurts-"

She kicks off one ruined shoe, uncaring as it slides well under Ava's bed.

"And I can't feel my toes and I'm pretty sure I'm dying and I want to go to bed-"

She loses both leather pads and the thick, knitted jersey, throwing them all to the floor in a rush of shivering vengeance.

"But I have charms to do and I hate this and I hate training in the cold-"

The unhappy Gryffindor seeker now stands in just her woollen thermals, pulling viciously at the expert French braid, I caringly knotted into her hair hours ago.

"And I especially hate Kit Macmillan, the absolute fuckwit that he is."

Finally divested of her soaked outerwear, the wind beaten soul starfishes face first onto my bed, her continued moans muffled softly by the heavy down duvet.

The final statement isn't a new revelation; Kit and Cass have always rubbed each other up the wrong way. She finds his constant need for sexual gratification in the form of a long list of conquests to be 'demeaning' and 'disgusting' whilst he just finds her downright mulish. They barb at each other constantly, nipping at the other's ego until blood is drawn and one of the rest of us has to step in and stop the circling crows. It's a very old routine and whilst he probably called her a bitch during training, I'm sure she called him far worse. But I can help with the rest;

"Just use my Charms notes Jord, I copied Ava's during study hall."

"mphmpgh mghperh, smpearmph aghrmph"

"Turn over genius, I can't hear a word you're saying."

She turns over and fixes two dark, doleful eyes on me.

"That would be absolutely amazing Dom, thankyou, thankyou, thank YOU!"

Energy renewed, she scrambles up to the top of the bed, and tries to cuddle all her gratitude into me, but promptly knocks over the ink pot in doing so.

"Oh fuck!"

And that's just classic Cass, spilling ink all over my duvet, but she's done far worse in the years I've known her, so I'm not hugely concerned.

"I'm so, so sorry Dom!"

And that's when I see the black liquid seeping throughout the painfully thin pages of my diary, so stupidly left open by yours truly.

"Wait, Scogurify… Scougiriffy. No that's not it…

Ooh I know what to do-"

And she's clambered up from the bed, disappearing into the next room; my ruined journal cradled carefully in a panicked, frantic embrace.

"Cassie, what are you doing- What is that?!"

I can hear Ava's absolute perplexity from inside our communal washroom.

"Is that Dom's diary ?"

Poor Spence has obviously been ambushed mid-bath by calamity Cassie.

And then the most horrifically, unambiguous sound of my painstakingly recorded memories being thrown into a full tub splashes resoundingly from the bathroom.

Fuck. My. Actual. Life.

I groan and try to steel myself for the undoubted loss of each precious entry and blinking ferociously to stop the hot tears pricking the back of my eyes.

"Dom, come here! I think it's working"

I erupt into the cosy bathroom scene to find a half soaked Cass, wand drying an amazingly ink-free book whilst a naked Ava subtly drops her wand back by the side of the bath. She always was skilled at non-verbal incantations and now I wonder if perhaps it was her talent and not Cassie's 'dip' that saved my most priceless possession.

And so that's how our impromptu bathroom saga has continued. Cassie carefully passing her wand over the front and back of each page, trying desperately to rinse any moisture from the pages she so almost, very nearly wrecked beyond all repair.

I can still see her trying to read each entry as she does though. Not so sneaky now, hey Cass?

Ava, true to her calm self, accepted that she had acquired two extra bathing companions and continued to form intricate shapes from the copious amounts of bubbles floating atop the bath water. She fashioned a pirates hat and proudly exclaimed that she would sail the seven seas, but then made the hat into a boat and watched it whoosh around the liquid surface, tiny crewmates walking the plank and hobbling about on peg legs. She then re-forms the boat and a humongous bubble beard dangles precariously from her chin. She keeps stroking it pensively, looking skywards as if searching for inspiration and I can't help but giggle at the sheer ridiculousness of our situation washes over me.

But the giggle dies quickly in my throat as it catches on a strained vocal chord, worn delicate from one too many menthol cigarettes and late nights.

Not that I would ever admit it. To have everyone stare at me with vindictive judgement, as if they _always_ knew my little muggle indulgence was actually a tiny crutch both crippling and supporting. Quite literally never gonna happen.

I'll just keep crying strep throat until old Pomfrey removes my tonsils, like I've been begging her to for months now. We're wizards for Merlin's sakes, it would take less that 20 minutes. She can sell them on the school hospital ward black market for all I care. Just take the fuckers out.

Until then, I'll just puff a little lighter. Maybe not inhale so much. Or maybe not inhale so deeply that I stop being able to tell you where the tobacco ends and my bloodstream begins. I wonder if Lovely Lara has ever tried a cigarette? I wonder if any actual addiction has actually brushed her virgin lips.

"Spence, where's our resident sex-kitten Lara? I haven't seen her for ages now. At least, not since before Christmas break."

Perhaps she started a brothel for other ridiculously good-looking teenage girls?

Ha. Ha. Me, bitter?

Ava stops her careful ministrations trying to persuade the newly formed tiny bubble sailors to stop jumping overboard, and looks at me with a little confusion muddying the otherwise extremely clear, grey pupils.

"Max broke up with her, so I think she's been giving all of us a wide berth. Self-preservation or something. Can't say I blame her."

And after dropping bombshell revelation number one, our darling friend returns to her foam pals, humming a soft tune as she does so.

"I'm sorry, Max did what?!"

Cass is spluttering, astounded, from her position on the floor, almost singeing a middle page of the journal before catching herself and fanning the book wildly around her head.

"I literally just had 4 hours of Quidditch with him and he didn't seem any different at all." She stops as if to mull over whether in fact her god-brother had been any more insane than usual. "He was a little manic but he's kind of always a bit of a maniac on the pitch so I didn't think anything of it."

"Well, they ended at the end of last term so he's had a while to get over it I suppose."

"Spence, how have you been keeping this quiet for so long!"

Another page almost burnt. Another wild diary fanning circuit around Cassie's head.

"I don't really know, I felt kind of bad for her and then Arch asked me not to say anything, for a little bit at least… and then I guess I forgot. But Katie, bless her, is over the moon. Says she made _'life far too easy for him'_ and-"

Ava's shocking revelations are now punctuated with bubble covered air quotations.

"That he _'doesn't need anyone to boost his ego any further'_ , which did not go down well at all."

For the record, I absolutely love Max and Archie's mum, Katie.

She's has this aura of kindness that surrounds her and when you're near to her it surrounds you too. I always say she's the human equivalent of a really hot cup of tea after a freezing, wet walk home. But, don't be mistaken. She tolerates absolutely no shit and will not take a single prisoner if you try her. If you would like to see three grown Scottish men cower in front of a toffee haired, elf of a woman, I suggest that you head to Kinross immediately.

The only reason I say three and not four men, is because her husband Oliver, is away at training camp with Puddlemere. But the moment he's back, it is four giant Scotsmen toeing a very clear line.

Love is Katie and Katie is love, whether it takes the form of a warm hug or a sharp slap on the wrist. Plus, she'll drink you under the table, and then dance on top of it probably pulling Cass's mum, Alicia up with her.

Like I said, she's an absolute babe.

"Yeah, I can imagine." Cass concurs, "I never got the impression Auntie Katie _**didn't**_ like Lara _but_ she was always saying to Mum how she wants the boys to be challenged. Like so much came so easily for them: _'good at Quidditch, good academically, good looks, outgoing'_ blah, blah, blah. You know how they go on."

Cass mimics her mother and godmother's incessant chatter, before rolling her eyes and turning back to the half dry object in her lap.

Ava pipes up from what I realise must be a rapidly chilling bath;

"Well when I went up to see Arch after Christmas, Max was basically going stir crazy but taking it out on everyone else-" she stops to reapply more bubble bounce to her foam bikini, "and he kept goading Hamish into a fight whenever the boys were alone. But one day he majorly pushed and Hamish had had enough, so he turned around and smacked Max here." she points at the bottom right hand sight of her jaw. "Oliver kicked them both outside to fight it off or whatever and then Katie laid into him massively."

"Wait, she laid into Max for fighting or for being a dick to everyone?"

Cass murmurs in agreement, obviously a little confused like me by all the testosterone coursing through the story.

"She basically ripped into him for taking the Lara situation out on his brothers and that family is family and on and on. You know how they are with the whole _'Wood Clan'_ stuff. So yeah, it was a little manic… but I definitely heard your name in amongst the shouting, Dom."

I'm almost completely sure I've misheard Spence.

"What? Why the hell was my name brought up?"

"I couldn't really hear, you know how loud they all are, but it was something about you and _'unfinished'_ something. Archie wouldn't explain when I asked but Hamish was mocking Max for not being able to handle his own business, basically."

I had never told Cass or Ava about the mistake Max and I made and so Ava's words sent cold, wet chills running the length of my spine. I just didn't want them to be embarrassed for me, or even worse, to pity me. I'd be absolutely humiliated.

Max and I had no unfinished business to go over and we had silently agreed to never talk about what happened and we never did. So why Hamish was banding my name around during family spats, I have absolutely no idea.

Like quite literally completely baffled.

"Throw me a towel Dom, I'm shrivelling at the speed of light."

Lady Evangeline was indeed looking more and more like a freckled raisin.

But a beautiful freckled raisin none the less.

(She made me say that).


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Sunday, January 14th**

7 am

* * *

"… and I think you really have the potential to excel if you only applied yourself Dominique. Your sister had such a passion for the subject-"

Professor Flitwick squeaks up from around my Lycra covered hip, his wistfully wispy beard gently brushing the freezing marble slab-ed floor as I gaze sorrowfully at the steaming porridge laden tables in the Great Hall. I had figured the castle would have still been deserted so early on a Sunday morning and had longingly looked forward to a post-run, piping hot mug of green tea to quell the chattering bones and blue fingers.

But instead, I have been accosted by a waist height almost elf and lectured about the "horrifically offensive" standard of my most recent piece of homework. Naturally Vic had found the 'Atmospheric Charm' easier than breathing and covered the entire classroom with giant droplets of glitter rain delighting her entire class and Flitwick in the process. I however, had neither mastered the charm nor written the essay and instead paid 5th year, Maggie Warren six sickles to do it.

Bloody Maggie Warren. Bloody Professor Flitwick. And now bloody Max Wood smirking at me from the bottom of the marble stairs.

Yay my life.

He's obviously just rolled out of bed, the warm rumpled lines in the white t-shirt a clear giveaway. That, and the fact his hair is sticking up in a myriad of confusing angles and arrangements. Radiating sleepy amusement, he rests against the bottom banister, both hands deep in the pockets of cosy tartan pyjama pants and winks at me behind Flitwick's back.

"… Would that appeal to you Dominique? Some after school tutoring? I'm sure it would aid the learning process greatly, and maybe help the language issue-"

Alarmed, I snap back into focus to observe the faculty member suggesting such a heinous decision as afterschool tutoring. Maman always said I have a terrible habit of showing every emotion on my face and I'm sure the screwed up abhorrent comprehension of his suggestion is disturbing to say the least.

So, in classic Dominique style, I begin to babble incoherently.

"Yes, I mean maybe not-… I don't really think I need-"

Why wasn't the ground swallowing me whole? Swallow me whole, Entrance Hall! I grant you permission!

"I think it was just that one essay- And I never do well with work handed in on Wednesdays-"

The earmuffs so lovingly knitted by Granny Molly, are practically disintegrating with the rate of twiddling occurring between my hands, warmed through with the steady pulse of embarrassment.

"Sir, perhaps I can look over Dom's essay and help show her where she went wrong?"

Max's gruff voice is magic to my burning ears and I trail off lamely, watching Flitwick practically glow with excitement.

"Hi ho! What a wonderful gesture Mr Wood, yes that sounds like a fantastic idea! I'll leave you studious beings to it then."

And off Flitwick trundles to breakfast, mumbling happily about 'dedicated students' and how 'true passion for Charms cannot be snuffed out', all interspersed with stereotypical skips of 'Hi, ho!'

Max's smirk is ever present as he observes the mess that is my existence and I convulsively hitch up my running tights, a nervous tick developed from waiting for the gunshot at the start of a race.

"Thanks for doing that, but you don't need to look at the essay or anything. I'm pretty sure Maggie ruined it on purpose-"

He has this irritating habit of letting me ramble uncontrolled until he see's fit to step in.

"I mean she said her rate was 10 sickles per essay, but c'mon that's pretty steep for a one page brief you know-"

Now he's moving the weight from one leg to the other, woolly moccasin slippers shuffling softly as he looks down at me.

"So she said she'd do what she could and I guess that meant absolutely nothing because according to Flitwick it was 'barely gradable' which is actually a little mean because I know-"

"Alright Weasley." Finally he decides to stop the torrential nonsense spewing from my mouth, if only to impress upon me how stupid I actually am. "Let's just get some food and I'll try to forget that you're an idiot."

But the smile reaches his eyes, and when they crinkle like that at the corners I'm basically putty in his more than capable hands. I wonder whether Lara misses that quirk too.

He pulls lightly at my two sizes too big hoodie, yet another hand me down and laughs as the zooming image of a cartoon snitch flies across the front. Years ago when my morning run had become a strict routine, Maman had bought me far more sophisticated athletic clothing, many involving edgy mesh panels and sweat defying fabric in an attempt to keep me more presentable when exercising. Unsurprisingly enough, these were all carelessly tossed aside for one of Dad's ancient sweatshirts despite her frequent efforts to hide or burn every offending item she found.

We amble towards the deserted Gryffindor Table, stopping near the middle and sliding in comfortably.

"How far you go today then?"

"Just 10. I landed funny somewhere around the 6th mile so thought I'd better cut it short-"

I clasp the scalding cup of tea in grateful hands and blow gently on the rising steam vapours.

"- But it's also cold as fuck and I was feeling lazy."

He looks at me oddly, before shaking his scruffy head and emptying the entire bowl of sliced banana onto his porridge. Cheers, Wood. He haphazardly stirs the mixture around before coating the entire mess in brown sugar and cinnamon. Meal times must be a feeding frenzy in the Wood household if this is anything to go by and I don't doubt that Archie or Hamish, or even Oliver actually, is any more tidy.

"We should run together one morning. I normally go with Arch but he always complains after the fifth or sixth mile, the dickhead."

To be fair, I knew this to be true. I had run with Archie once and he whined like a banshee on heat, his usual gentle giant persona banished. But to run with Max? I don't know. I love leaving in the pitch black; the only sound a steady crunch of frozen grass underfoot as you pace out, the cold air snapping reality into focus and I really only like sharing that suspended reality with a handful of people, most of who aren't even at Hogwarts any more.

Victoire and Louis are obviously fine as we grew up running together, and Cass isn't bad if the weather is fair but for the majority of the time, I just like going it alone, watching the sunrise from a different hill or cliff top each day before heading home again, the weary ache of satisfaction deep in my bones.

"Yeah maybe, but you'd have to be ready to go at 5-" I gesture at his crumpled appearance; "or you get left behind."

I rise slowly still clutching the tea but already picturing my cosy duvet waiting upstairs and the possibility of a late brunch with the girls in a few hours.

"Alright, you're on Weasley. Next Sunday, 5am. I'll be here."

And the Max smirk is back.

Yay. (Fuck)

* * *

 **Wednesday, January 17th**

8 pm

* * *

Maggie Warren is probably the most spiteful little snit in this whole castle. She interspersed the essay _(which I paid for)_ with random curse words, so every sentence is either expletive or outrageously offensive. Was it not on my Charms work I'd have probably found it beyond hilarious but when 'Atmospheric' has been changed to 'Atmos-Fuck You' on every other line, it's a little hard to see the silver lining. I mean, maybe I should have double-checked the parchment before handing it in but I had barely remembered to get the work back from her, let alone read through it.

Obviously everyone else finds it side-splittingly hysterical and are continuing to read snippets out loud, as they had ever since supper when Kit fished it from my satchel and carried it up to Gryffindor common room like the most precious new born baby.

"Therefore when the charm is fucked properly-" Cass splutters trying to finish the sentence, "precipitation will rain giant condoms from the sky."

She wipes away the fat, rolling tears running down her tawny cheeks and hands the parchment to Ava who literally can't even speak she's giggling so manically. I'm sure if it weren't for Flitwick's reverence of Victoire's talent for Charms, he would have put me directly in detention. Or counselling.

"What's this then?" A strong forearm reaches across the back of the plump sofa and plucks the paper from Ava's shaking hands before kissing the top of her toffee head. Archie balances his broom against the back of the couch, ice-blue eyes widening with each sentence. "Dom please tell me you didn't hand this in?" To his credit, he tries incredibly hard not to rumble with laughter as he looks upon me curled completely into the squashy scarlet armchair, my face probably near enough the same colour.

He passes the paper to Max, just emerging from the portrait hole, before shaking his head good-humouredly, picking Ava up from her cosy corner and replacing the fairy like creature comfortably in his lap. She snuggles into his woolly cable-knit jumper and he anchors two arms firmly around her uniform clad waist, smiling gently as she runs a palm over his scratchy stubble. If I were less whimsical I would probably vomit, but they're pretty wonderful in actuality, both just so in love with being in love. Cassie kicks them lightly from the other end of the sofa and they stop the nuzzling but remain intertwined, Ava sticking her tongue out at the least romantic Jordan daughter.

"Dom you didn't say it was this bad…" Max's trademark smirk is replaced with pure shock as he scans one profane line after the other, each worse than the one before. "The good weather charm is performed by the correct twisting hand motion, and can be learned through repeated practice or visiting a male gigolo." His deep voice is strangled as he skim reads the rest of the awfulness before bursting out in echoing rolls of laughter upon reaching the final line.

"This work was 100% completed by Dominique Weasley, Sixth Year Gryffindor and a complete prat."

Bloody Maggie Warren.

* * *

11 pm

* * *

So we've put Cass's little sister, Mindy on the case to bring down Maggie and her ring of evil. Knowing Min, there will definitely be hair dye and gum involved, bless her devil heart, she is the most cunning child wrapped up in such a beautiful exterior.

Were it not for the over protective Wood brothers, I'm sure Mindy would be suffocating under boys by now. She, like Cass and Sofia, has this shimmering curtain of dark hair, which hangs heavy down their slender backs. And, like her sisters before her, she doesn't layer on the war paint, opting instead for a couple layers of mascara and some lip balm if she has time spare. Despite her being the youngest of their godmother's children, the protectiveness amped up when Hamish and Sofia began dating and they all assumed the position of loving but domineering big brothers. To be fair, Mindy's friends love it, forever giggling when Max and Arch race over to torment her, almost always with Kit in tow.

Hopefully the revenge brainchild concocted by her, and possibly Fred and James, will annoy Maggie bloody Warren to the point of insanity. I hope her hair falls out.

* * *

 **Friday, January 19th**

6 pm

* * *

Oh my god.

Maggie Warren's skin is completely obscured by slippery; slime covered green scales and she can't open her mouth without ribbeting like an ugly bullfrog.

Thank Merlin and Dumbledore for Mindy Jordan. I just love her.

* * *

 **Sunday, January 21st**

4.50 am

* * *

Yawning widely, I lace up my 'midnight indigo' (black) sneakers, so carefully chosen by Maman and pull on a tight, dark thermal top, careful to avoid the messy slept-in ponytail in the process. I'm 90% sure that Max is snugly fast asleep in the boys tower, dreaming of girls with chests and hips like Lara's, and not excitedly preparing for a run with a hugely underdeveloped girl whom he's not even remotely interested in.

I throw on Dad's treasured 'Snitch and Friends' sweatshirt before standing in front of the thankfully, charmed silent mirror. Top heavy is most definitely the word _du jour:_ scrawny legs clad in black Lycra thermals, matching fur lined headband to keep my elf ears warm and a jumper so big I could probably use it as a parachute. Why wouldn't Max leave a perfectly warm bed for this?

Padding down the stairs, I twist off the scrunchie on my wrist and re-do the blonde birds nest into a 10 mile worthy ponytail, tying it as tightly as possible before replacing the thermal headband.

Barely seeing the common room before I miss the final step and career downward, I stretch out trying to save myself a bone-crunching fall. And yet, I'm caught centimetres above the ground, two gentle arms righting me, before brushing the loose stone from my knees.

There, bold as brass, stands Max Wood, dressed simply in black sweatpants and white thermal top, the Puddlemere logos faded from frequent washes. He's gazing down at me with what I'm sure is incredulity that someone could be so stubbornly clumsy and yet persevere with leading a normal life.

"Seriously Dom?" His voice is thick with sleep and I 'd bet money that he'd exited dreamland only seconds before. He yawns and stretches up, the top rising slightly to show an inch of the toned abdominals only slightly dusted with dark hair, I knew rested beneath. Thank god I was wearing so many layers and could attribute the blush to extreme warmth inside the over heated common room.

I cock my head towards the portrait hole and we climb silently through, him gradually waking up and me determining what route to take. My favourite leads past the Quidditch Pitch and out to Hogsmeade ending at the most stunning lake to watch the sun come up. But maybe he'll have a different route to follow, I don't really know.

The front doors creak quietly as we slip out, the old bolts groaning as we pull at the wood, before easing into submission as they're pushed back into place.

"Which way then, lass?" Max looks at me inquisitively and I'm stunned a little as to how he looks so adorable after just waking up, sleep filled eyes overflowing into a peaceful, if not a little pinched with the cold, face.

"Left," I reply "Just out towards the village and a bit further on…" I trail off lamely, a habit noticeably exacerbated in his presence before pushing off at an easy pace. The morning dew is as yet untouched by sunlight and the blades of grass are crisp underfoot, the healthy crunch a welcome rhythm to my chilly ears. The air is brittle, each curt blow snapping at the exposed skin above the neck of my sweatshirt, but Max looks unfazed, obviously used to the bitter Scottish wind and pushes on.

We fall into a gentle rhythm, a half pace slower than my usual speed but comfortable none the less, and pass the greenhouses in easy silence, countless potted plants slumbering peacefully inside. The five-mile mark comes and goes and we leave Hogsmeade in the dark, only a glint of breaking sun reflected in the shop windows, before turning right towards the hidden lake. I step up the rhythm to my usual pace, racing the sunrise to reach the hidden Eden. Max exhales softly before speeding up to match my stride and I'm so grateful he hasn't tried to talk. You wouldn't ask a Quidditch player to have a natter mid-match would you? Well, you wouldn't ask twice that's for sure.

We follow the overgrown trail, barely passing the 8-mile mark before emerging into a wooded clearing, the shimmering lake protected below by lush forest. Panting slightly I lead us left towards the far side of the forest, careful not to trip over the knotted tree roots growing wild across the grassy floor.

Finally we break into the next clearing and I bend over trying to catch my breath, fighting against the aching pain in my lungs. Max appears next to me, panting slightly and lifts up his top to wipe his sweat slicked brow, before straightening up and looking curiously around the space.

"Follow me." I breathlessly motion for him to come with me and duck into an all but hidden path, so overrun with low hanging branches and flowers. We walk slowly, stretching warm muscles before taking a sharp right and entering the secret garden. Flowers roam free here, buds and bulbs of vibrant yellows and bluish lilacs resplendent against the green and brown backdrop. Below us lies the lake, a stunning mass of seemingly infinite depths, so still as yet undisturbed but glinting with the reflected rising sun, warm on my cold face.

"You come here every day?"

I nod, and bend over again, the stich in my stomach waning slightly. "Yeah, well most days anyways. I just like the peace, I guess. It's nice sometimes when the castle gets too much."

Max looks at me again, that odd look so ever present on his face before sitting on an abandoned trees stump, the gnarled wood butchered shamelessly and left to rot. I take the opposite woody victim and stretch my sore legs out, massaging the right calf into submission as I do so. I wonder if Max realises this is the first time we've been alone, _really alone,_ since that night. Maybe he's too busy pining after Lara to realise. It's probably the latter.

"Yeah, sometimes that place is too loud. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, with brothers and parents like mine but it can get too much. Just too much movement, you know. You probably do with a family like yours," He nods at me, running a hand through his slightly damp, dark hair. "but there's a spot just like this in Kinross, the ground is a little harder," He kicks the dirt for good measure, "but on a good day you can see way out to the border and beyond…"

He has this far off look in his eyes and I feel like an intruder on such a private part of his life, which I know pretty much nothing about. Vic's been to the Wood's a few times with Sofia or their friends to visit Hamish, and I hear stories from Cass who's been going there since she was a baby, but I still know relatively little. Ava mentions snippets but nothing to piece together exactly what their home is like; I just get the impression it's filled with love, which is nice.

"I found it running away from Archie when we were younger." He smirks slightly but it's neither malicious or arrogant, more a fond movement, "Dad had said that whoever ran the furthest could have seconds of Mum's apple pie, which looking back now is ridiculous because we always had seconds, but I took off and just kept going." He chuckles slightly and I laugh at the idea of tiny Max taking off like the Tasmanian devil, little legs chugging away.

We quiet into easy silence as the sun peeks out from behind the trees, rising slowly until the sunbeams are un-interrupted by bushes or branches and shine freely. Tiny dusty particles float suspended in each light shaft, moving gently like a leaf on the river, so peacefully graceful.

"Yeah, there wasn't much breathing space in my house either," I think tenderly of the lopsided Shell Cottage I had just left and then of Granny Molly and Granddad Arthur's Burrow, neither havens for peace or quiet. There had always been a sibling or cousin to play with or get in trouble with, depending on which one you found and a muddy puddle to jump in, ruining the new dress just bought or handed down to you.

"Apparently when she was younger, Victoire used to pray every night for a brother or sister," I laugh, "But by the time Louis came along she used to pray for exactly the opposite." The mirth in his eyes is one of understanding and I know that he understands what it's like to be thrown into the melting pot of family life, his blended bunch stretching to encompass the Jordans as well.

The sun is high overhead now and I stand, brushing the wood particles lightly from the backs of my legs. "Should we head back?" Max looks a little surprised but follows my lead and treads lightly back through the clearing. He knocks my shoulder lightly, "This is a nice spot, Weasley." before grinning and taking off quicker than before as I follow close behind. I realise that it doesn't feel wrong that he came here, and that maybe it feels a little too right just to sit and talk about absolutely nothing. The slightly swifter renewed pace is enough to distract me from those thoughts though.

* * *

 **Monday, January 22nd**

8 am

* * *

"So you got up at 5am, went for a 16 mile run, took him to the place you won't even take me and didn't talk about anything other than your family?"

If Monday's weren't bad enough, Cass and Spence have formed a semi-obsession with the fact that Max came with me yesterday and have taken to quizzing me over breakfast. Currently Cassie is playing the loyalty card, as she'd been begging to come with me to see the lake for months now and each time I had remained stubborn on the leaving time of 5am, something she just could not comprehend.

"Yes, but it wasn't like that! We just went together it wasn't like we were together or anything."

Ava pipes up, "Dom, that didn't make any sense and you know it." My usually serene friend is finding fault after fault in my reasoning, which is grating to say the least.

I pick at the bowl of porridge before me, stirring berries and bananas into the gloopy depths, sighing as I think back on yesterday's events. Honestly, it's absolutely pointless to even contemplate pining after Max Wood. You'll lust over him and he'll be dreaming of Lara lookalikes or even worse, girls that look like Vic. Maybe it was stupid to even go with him yesterday, I'm sure it meant very little in the grand scheme of things anyways.

Eurgh. I'm either destined to want boys who don't want me or live alone with 72 cats, or maybe both. I'm pretty sure that's where this whole life thing is headed at this point anyways.

"I think he likes you." Cass has finally stopped peering at me from across the breakfast table, and pours herself a glass of OJ before continuing. "He never talks about home with people he doesn't rate."

"Ooh, that's a good sign!" Ava is beside herself with glee and it pains me to burst the happiness bubble that surrounds her.

"You guys. We went for a run and we stopped at a lake. We talked about our families-" I raise my voice as Cass opens her mouth, "-and then we ran home. That was it, nothing more and nothing less." I shake my head as she goes to interrupt again, "Don't, Cass." And in gracious best friend style, she stops herself and drops the subject.

"Have you got training today?" I ask her as I mound the berries onto my spoon before blowing softly and cautiously trying the scalding mixture, careful not to burn my tongue.

"No thank god," Her mixed race features light up and she scoops more brown sugar into her coffee. "I convinced Avery to move it to Wednesday. Mondays are just too much without three hours in the freezing wind as well. He wasn't super happy but whatever." She shrugs off the Gryffindor Captain's obvious displeasure; Avery Jones was little but an inconvenience when Cass didn't want to do something. "I thought we could have a girls night like we used to, sneak some food from the kitchens and everything."

"Yes! That sounds amazing," Spence is once again thrilled and her lilting voice lifts with happiness. "I have remedial Potions from 7 'til 9 but I can sneak out a little earlier depending on how much Sluggie drinks at supper."

For all her talents, dear Ava is absolute terrible at Potions. She equates it to something called 'Chemistry' in the muggle world, but I don't know if it really is similar. Anyways, she said that at her muggle school she was terrible at 'Chemistry' (still unsure of spelling and pronunciation) and that this has translated heavily into her blowing up at least one cauldron per week since first year. Now she has extra tutoring with Ol' Slughorn twice a week and moans for at least an hour afterwards until Archie shuts her up or whisks her away.

'Girls nights' are a sacred ritual within the Weasley, Jordan, Spencer-Brown friendship trio and evolved from countless nights complaining about Cass's horrid ex-boyfriend Ethan James. He was the absolute worst; A 6th year when we were 4th years and just terrible in every way possible. One of the best looking boys in school, blonde haired and blue eyed, on the outside but so controlling and mean on the inside. Poor Cass had months of misery before she finally cut him loose in a showdown still whispered about by the students old enough to remember it.

Ethan was in the same year as Vic's gang of friends but they operated extremely separately, what with them being in Gryffindor and he in Slytherin. Well, they operated extremely separately until Cass came crying to Sofia after Ethan's 'strong grip' had left bruising across both her upper arms and Hamish had saw fit to head over to the Slytherin table and punch him square in the face. Luckily 14-year-old Cass bounced back pretty quickly and Ethan's nose was never as straight as it once was, the prick.

Anyways, long story short, we formed these girls' nights as a mechanism to try and keep her happy in the weeks following and they kind of became tradition. I would smuggle food from the kitchens, Cass would beg Avery for the prefect's bathroom password and Spence would sneak a bottle of something from Slughorn's expansive collection. We had drunk a fair amount of his vintage wines in the past and I doubt that he had even noticed.

"That sounds wonderful-" my still aching calf muscle did not enjoy the short 5-miler this morning and screamed for some rest and relaxation, especially if it was found within the enormous prefect bathroom's bath. "I think I pulled something on Sunday, my leg is in absolute agony." I reach down and rub the offending tissue but not before seeing the look passed between Cass and Ava. Interfering little witches. "Let's meet at 9?"

They both nod and Cass returns to seeing how much sugar really can dissolve in a single mug of coffee and Ava to frantically re-reading the Potions textbook. Why it was made a mandatory NEWT subject, I'll never know. But all in all it was a pretty standard Monday morning, filled with yawn filled conversations and illegal amounts of caffeine. Joy.

* * *

9 pm

* * *

Naturally I'm running late to meet the girls and so decide to skip food smuggling until we've all had a long soak beneath the bubbly surface of what I truly believe is a swimming pool masquerading as a bath.

My carefully transfigured towel and pyjamas lay concealed beneath my robes and the right side bulges slightly where they're clutched to my side. I tear down the sixth floor staircase, jumping the last step and gasping as my leg twinges. The fifth floor corridor is deserted and I'm sure that Cass and Ava grew tired of waiting for me and are already enjoying the mountain of bubbles I know lay behind the door.

I skid to a halt outside the fourth door and tap lightly on the knobbly wooden structure before placing an ear against the cool surface and vainly try to hear any movement behind. In hindsight this was a foolish move as Ava swings it open from the inside and I do little more but grab onto her and shriek as we almost fall over, slipping on the steamed up tiles.

We stumble around, giggling wildly as my semi-scream echoes around the bathroom and break apart still breathless from laughing at the ridiculousness of what had just happened. Cass snorts from across the room and I see her already bikini clad, reclining happily amongst bubble clouds, swigging heavily from a bottle of champagne. "Spence outdid herself tonight," She gestures behind her where two other huge bottles lay in wait, "three bottles smuggled out from beneath Sluggie's sleeping nose!"

She giggles to the point of breathlessness and I wonder if her bottle isn't already halfway finished. Ava pulls off her dressing gown and briefly rearranges the bathing suit's top half before jumping nimbly into the water, rising gracefully to the surface, her light hair streaming behind.

I discard my layered uniform in practiced hasty motions, my bathing suit hidden underneath, and retie the thin black strings either side of the bottoms before cannonballing into the very middle of the water. Had I been a witness, I'm sure the smack would have been deafening, especially if my companions shrieks were anything to go by.

Swimming over to the side I grab the two remaining bottles of what looks like a vintage Moët and Chandon and I wince slightly thinking about how much exactly we've put Sluggie out of pocket. I'll remind Spence to be super lovely to him in their next few sessions.

Said thief, pops open both corks with her wand and we laugh as they fly off high into the vaulted ceilings, probably never to be seen again. Spence shrieks as the bubbles overflow on hers and slurps up the fizzing liquid, spluttering as some goes up her nose. Usually completely serene Ava, coughing and gasping as champagne pours freely from her nose is actually a pretty hilarious thing to watch and Cass holds on to me as she laughs uproariously.

We quieten down as she gasps for air and paddle over together to the shallower end, warm jets of water soothing on my aching muscles.

"I saw Avery in the common room Cass, he is not a happy bunny-" I pause to push sopping blonde hair out of my eyes "He says that after tonight you should be well rested enough for a month of quarter-weeklies."

"Noooooooooo, I'm going to die." She sinks below the surface, carefully holding her bottle above and emerges with a scowl to rival Medusa fixed on the otherwise flawless face. "Avery Jones you absolute fucker!"

"You know he can't hear you babe." Ava replies pitifully, her doleful eyes already slightly droopy with the copious amounts of consumed champagne. Cass and I both stare at her before giggling at the fact that it's outrageously obvious that Quidditch tyrant Avery cannot hear us deep within the fifth floor prefect's bathroom and that she has allowed the alcohol free reign over her brain.

Quarter-weeklies mean practice every school night except Wednesdays, 7pm until 10pm, no excuses. It was rough to say the least. Cass, Max and Archie were like walking zombies last time Avery introduced the barbaric policy and there was one mad month, which also included Saturday practices, and culminated in Cass bursting into tears every morning, so sore from training the night before.

Spence and Cass natter away about Hamish and Sofia's most recent argument, which apparently included a rather nasty screaming fight and one airborne iron, which lost its intended target (Hamish's head) and instead broke the kitchen window of Sofia and Victoire's shared apartment in London. Worryingly, this wasn't the first pane of glass broken in their relationship and I highly doubt it'll be the last.

I mewl gently and move so as to direct the bubbling hot underwater streams over my aching leg and mentally commit to gentler exertions over the next few days. An easy week is better than a month of recuperation anyways. We recline happily for an hour or so before hopping out of the bubble-infested waters and drying off, Cass's wavy hair already snapping into form.

"I have to go back via the kitchens, I completely spaced and left getting the food until too late." Slipping into my favourite pair of plaid pyjama shorts and thin white vest top, I confess my previous mental lapse to the two slightly (very) tipsy girls swaying before me.

"No worries" hiccup "we'll just see you back in the common room." The quarter weekly announcement had sobered Cass up slightly and she frowns, annoyed every time a traitorous hiccup left her lips. I ball my uniform up and stuff it deep inside Ava's satchel, hoping she's too drunk to notice the added weight and slip, shivering, out into the fifth floor corridor.

Padding quickly through the castle my bare feet are silent on the freezing ground and I inwardly berate myself for not remembering any slippers. Hypothermia be dammed, hopefully my dessert run won't include losing a toe to frostbite. Finally happening upon the Entrance Hall I skip down the deserted stairs, my feet numb with cold and scrawny arms replete with goose bumps and the occasional shiver. Wet hair and little clothing, nice one Dom.

The pear transforms easily after a few moments of gentle tickling and I am immediately immersed in the bustling, cosy kitchen underworld the elves inhabit. They laugh and grin at my freezing appearance, offering up hot chocolate with whipped cream and warm tea as they prepare the usual midnight feast order of truffles, molten marshmallows and sugared mice. I leave significantly more laden down, an adorable wicker basket filled to the brim, exiting quietly, the cold air whipping my wet head like the snap of a ruler on a desk.

Once again noiselessly moving through the castle as quickly as my heavy load and cold legs will allow I almost turn directly into a tall form moving swiftly from the other direction.

"Oh shit!" Grant McLaggen's deep voice echoes around the corridor and he fumbles trying to catch the tipping basket before it careens to the floor. Luckily it balances out and our extensive dessert selection is saved from an early death, helped hugely by Grant's quick Quidditch reflexes.

"Dominique, isn't it?" His dark eyes take in my semi-clad appearance and smiles slightly at my bare feet.

"Or Dom, I don't mind whichever." I'm feeling nervous all of a sudden, Grant's one of those boys who's already a man, fully filled out and completely sure of themselves. The shaggy, blonde-y brown curls don't hurt either.

" I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have been going so fast and I wasn't looking where I was going which doesn't help-" He's being so nice, and the sheepish look in his eyes is endearing to say the least. "I hope you're not hurt?"

I laugh off his concern and shift my weight from one foot to the other, the cold permeating the soft soles. "No, I'm okay thanks. Just a little chilly!"

He smiles and moves to the side, letting me pass to continue the glacial sprint to Gryffindor tower. "Dom-" He calls after me, the empty passageway echoing the deep sound, "Let me know if I can ever make it up to you."

I smile, his easy confidence rubbing off on me, "Will do. Goodnight!"

* * *

11 pm

* * *

Both girls are fast asleep by the time I finally arrive, two giant champagne bottles laid to waste on the floor. Our other dormates slumber peacefully, obliviously undisturbed and probably under the effects of a sneaky muffilato charm, as I gently place the picnic basket on the ground and crawl gratefully into an elf-warmed bed.

My last thought, before sleep overwhelms me, is of Grant McLaggen and how he might be even cuter up close, the curly hair and easy eyes a definite winner. But dreamland beckons and I drift softly into the dark abyss, all thoughts of cute boys and crinkly eyes vanished.

* * *

 **Thursday, January 25th**

1 pm

* * *

You know how they say, 'When it rains it pours'? Well this week Grant has suddenly been everywhere. Between classes, after mealtimes and even bursting into our potions class yesterday carrying two heavy handfuls of sedated mandrakes, sent on the errand by his Head of House, Professor Sprout.

I guess he's always been around the castle this much and my unconscious brain hasn't registered anything until now. It's kind of nice when we bump into each other though; he does this silly thing where he'll open those brown eyes really wide and look at my feet as if shocked I'm actually wearing shoes before winking and continuing with his friends. I wouldn't say we're friends but I don't think we could be classes strangers anymore either.

Oh wait, I think that's him coming into lunch now. Did I not say 'when it rains it pours'! He's walking towards the Gryffindor table, waving off his seventh year Hufflepuff friends with a lazy arm movement.

"Cass" I hiss, trying to speak out of the corner of my mouth unsuccessfully, "Is Grant coming towards us?"

Ever unobservant Cass cranes her slim neck trying to find the culprit before quickly sinking back into her seat and kicking my shin under the table.

"Uh huh, Dom?" Grant clears his throat behind me and I swivel around barely missing the cutlery in my haste.

"Hey" I smile easily, he has such warm eyes. "What's up?"

Cass is trying to look as uninterested as possible, alternating between picking at her food and glancing surreptitiously up at us from beneath her curtain of hair.

"Are you saving this seat?" His voice is gruff and deep, with only a very slight Scottish inflection. The name McLaggen should have been clue enough that there was a highlander in there somewhere.

I shake my head and wriggle up as he perches next to me, resting an arm easily on the oak table. He smiles and opens his mouth as if to speak but then glances down and shakes his shaggy head a slight blush gracing the roman nose.

"I, uhh-" His normally sure voice is faltering slightly and I feel another soft kick from Cass. She opens her already large eyes super wide and glances meaningfully between Grant and me.

"Dom, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me at some point?"

And suddenly he looks like a little boy again; face open with the vulnerability of rejection but his stance easy and demeanour friendly.

"Oh, I…" My stuttering brain goes into overdrive. Why has lovely Grant McLaggen, who has his fair share of beautiful girls pining after him, just asked me on a date?

Blushing heavily I finally gain control of at least a couple of my senses, "Sure, that sounds really nice." I tentatively smile as an exuberant Cass performs what feels like the can-can on my shin.

"Oh great," His smile widens and posture relaxes slightly, "I'll owl you or something to arrange?"

"Okay, sounds good" Cassie gestures wildly for me to stop slouching and I jerk up as he stands.

"Great! Catch you later Dom." Running a hand through his curls, he finally notices Cass and blinks a little, obviously unaware to her presence until then. "Oh, hey Jordan."

"Smooth McLaggen, real smooth." She replies, laughing good-humouredly and he tinges a light pink before raising a wide palm and going to join his friends already well into their lunch, over at the Hufflepuff table.

"You know the next Hogsmeade trip is Valentines Day weekend right?"

Cass punctures my happiness bubble with a quick pop. Of course it would be, my first actual date with a decent guy and it'll probably be killed off with singing cherubs and paper hearts within ten minutes. The village is so kitschy when it comes to holidays like this. If it were up to me every couple would be given a couple bottles of wine and forbidden from reciting any lame sonnet or plagiarised poem.

But still, V-Day weekend is still over two weeks away. Maybe I'll come round to the tacky romance thing by then.

* * *

 **Sunday, January 28th**

5 am

* * *

How Max is in the common room before me again, I'll never know. But here he is once more, replete with baggy sweatpants and a long sleeved Puddlemere training top, clutching a slightly fuzzy black beanie hat as well.

"Morning Wood." He smirks down at me, and it takes a beat or two to realise the double entendre in my greeting. "Oh my god, really Max?" He shrugs good-naturedly and rubs a sleepy eye, if I'm honest I wasn't actually expecting to see him today, I had figured last week was just a one off kind of thing.

"No hoodie?" He gestures towards the clingy, black thermal, which has replaced my beloved sweatshirt, the zip done up all the way to my chin to keep out any frigid gusts of air.

I shrug also, not wanting to tell him that it's upstairs in the dorm, super gross from having been run in it all week.

We pace out similarly to the week before, but this time I'm aware of his presence with every stride. I step the pace up to a half stride faster than usual and he keeps up effortlessly, hitting the ground in exact time with me, occasionally glancing over as if it check I haven't made a sudden turn.

The wind is stronger today and it snaps the wisps of hair away from my face in short, sharp bursts and I bury my lips into the fuzzy lining of my thermal, desperate to keep them from the unforgiving breeze. We run the long way to the clearing today, forgoing the wooded shortcut and instead circle around the hill before slowing considerably as we ascend up.

"Dom, wait!-" I look behind and Max is bent double clutching at his hamstring, panting slightly at the change from steady rhythm to abrupt halt.

"Oh shit," I jog back down the hill. "Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

He brushes off my worry with a wave of his hand before re-extending his right leg, testing out how much weight it can stand. "No, I'll be fine, just need to stretch." He gestures towards the visible clearing only a hundred yards or so away, "Can we walk up?"

"Of course." I fall into gentle step with him, our walking pace considerably slower with his strain and unzip the thermal, the freezing air a welcome relief to my hot skin. I wipe at my brow and look across at Max, the hat in his hands as he pushes away the damp pieces of hair stuck to his forehead.

"So, how's Charms going?" He asks and I realise that we've been padding along in silence, the usual thump of racing feet replaced with the gentle calls of morning birds. Max's smirk is reminder enough that he is well aware of the standard of my Charms ability and yet he teases me, all under guise of genuine interest.

"Excellently, thank you!" I flip my ponytail indignantly, "Flitwick held up my work as an example to the rest of the class and said if they ever want to see a truly dedicated student, to just watch me study!" He laughs softly and nudges me with his shoulder, the crinkly eyes drawing me in again. "Yeah, yeah, I believe it, Weasley. Your potential in that subject knows no bounds." We both chuckle and finally reach the overgrown, wooded area I believe he's coming to really like as well.

"What's that?" I ask from my trusty tree stump, watching as he moves through a series of dynamic stretches, each one held for a breath before released.

"It's called Restorative Yoga" He breathes deeply again and lunges slightly lower and I don't miss the wince of pain as his right hamstring is engaged. "We go to practice with Dad sometimes and his trainer showed me and Arch. Apparently Hamish has all the balance of a bouncy ball so he doesn't really like it."

This couldn't be the same practice Spence's beautifully eccentric mum had been wittering on about, could it?

But I giggle imaging the three Wood brothers actually being serious and zen-like, a pretty difficult feat considering they all return to being Scottish wild boys when together. God knows how Katie controls them.

"Come. Try it." He pulls me up and I start slightly at the feel of my small hands cocooned in his large, calloused ones, before he moves me next to him. "Okay, stretch up," We raise both arms above our heads, "And bend forwards to touch your toes." I follow his lead and extend downwards, placing my palms flat on the dust, still flexible from the years of ballet Maman forced down my throat. "Now lunge backwards with your right leg and-"

I stop listening, choosing instead to follow the real life demonstration facing me. Max is pretty supple for such a big guy, I mean he's no Russian gymnast but I'm impressed nonetheless. Apparently 'Restorative Yoga' is the only thing that saved him from having to sit out last year's entire Quidditch season, a fact very new to me.

We move slowly through positions, each one easy enough until I finally lose balance, swaying wildly as my tricky calf spasms in pain.

"Come here, Weasley." Max holds me steady, placing two firm hands on my shoulders and extending each arm so they stretch away from my body. "Stand with a wide base, point this leg forwards" he pats my right thigh, the wide palm span almost covering their width. "And lower your hips slightly." I figured that he would have stopped with the 'hands-on' approach by now but he moves the grip to rest on my hips, the guidance firm as he helps me into the position.

"Like this?" My voice is little more than a squeak as I register how much I'm focussing on his hands.

"Yeah, exactly." Max's voice is hot on my ear, the husky Scottish accent thick and smooth as he holds me still, his breathing loud, as the world is quiet, so silent before the dawn.

And in my mind I'm suddenly 14 and back in his bed, my heart so confused about love and want and my head muddled as to what it is to feel both. His palms burn through the thin layer of spandex material stretched over my hips and his body heat permeates my thermals as he stands close behind me, the top of my head just brushing his chin. I jerk away and he clears his throat, the moment broken. If there even was a moment. I don't know. Maybe that's how he treats all his friends.

I sit, pretending to stretch and he returns back to the favourite stump, limping slightly as he does so.

His deep voice is gruff when he breaks the silence. "There's this new shop in Hogsmeade that sells all this running gear, like wand holsters and stuff-" He's kicking up the earth as he talks, the dusty clouds rising only a centimetre or two before settling back down. "I could show you, if you want next time we can go down to the village? I think everyone's going, like in a group but we could go and check it out, I mean if you wanted to…" He trails off now and I wonder if my terrible habit is wearing off, before inwardly groaning as I remember my conversation with Grant only a couple days ago.

"I already told Grant McLaggen that I'd go with him, but I could always just meet you guys afterwards, if you're all in the Three Broomsticks or something?" My excuse is lame and Max freezes slightly before almost imperceptibly shaking his head at the ground.

"Yeah no worries, Weasley. We can always do it another time or something. Maybe Cass will be game instead." He stands quickly; brushing dirt flecks from his dark sweatpants, and replaces the beanie back on his head. He smiles but his eyes don't crinkle and I inwardly wince at the worry of him thinking I've put Grant above my friends.

But we've gone to Hogsmeade all together forever, ever since third year, I'm sure my bailing this time won't upset everyone too much.

"Should we go?" Max's eyes are above my head, looking far into the distance before striding quickly from the clearing and out into open air. I tighten my ponytail and follow, the air freezing, when just moments ago it had been comfortable. We run back in near silence and part ways with a mumbled goodbye before he disappears up into the boy's tower, taking the steps two at a time and barely looking back.

The knot, now so present in my stomach twists painfully and the normal post-run endorphin high is replaced with the damp, heavy weight of anxiety.

Maybe I'll just go back to sleep for a bit, perhaps that will throw it off.

* * *

Please read and review, it makes my day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Thursday, February 1st**

7 am

* * *

The first of the month dawns bright and clear and I complete my run in record time, breathlessly racing the ever-earlier sun.

I pad over to Cassie's bed, the only person still in the dorm, her vibrating wand resting un-snoozed on the bedside table. Chilly floorboards creak underfoot and I hitch up my towel, eagerly anticipating the hottest shower my goose-bumped skin can bear.

"Cass" I shake her gently, the light pink duvet covered in tiny whizzing broomsticks. "Wake up." Her wand's vibration has progressed into a violent tempo, bouncing off the photo frame and water glass it resides with on the oak top. The bathroom door squeaks open and Ava slips in, clutching one fluffy towel to her dripping body and another on her head.

"She is not still asleep!" Towel monster flip-flops over; the slapping noise, loud on each floorboard and bends down, stopping directly above the sleeping form's face. "Cassandra Jordan! You wake up, right now!" Spence turns, pulling off the towel turban and flicking me slightly with long, sopping strands of hair. "I woke her up ages ago, she even got out of bed and everything!" I laugh; Cass has been pulling that move since she was little, knowing that if people thought she was up and about they normally left her alone.

Avery had been brutalising the Gryffindor team for two weeks now, intent that they would be in tip-top shape for their first match of the year, but breaking their spirits in the process. Only Max had agreed with the mistreatment, insisting that practice be extended to five days a week until Cass had thrown the Quaffle at his balls and began screaming in Spanish about exhaustion and what it does to hormonal girls. I think she knew that those words said in English would see her expelled or sectioned under the Mental Health Act. Bless Alicia and her expletive filled grip on their mother tongue, she's taught her girls well.

Ava drops the sodden towel into our laundry basket before gathering up her hairbrush and vanity case and disappearing once more into the steamy bathroom, content that Cass would greet the day now.

The form, still hidden under the rose-coloured duvet wiggles and one clear green eye appears, flicking quickly from side to side. "Dom, get in." Her voice is scratchy as she lifts the covers and furtively beckons me under. The gust of air is warm and smells of laundry detergent and I wriggle in, as quickly as my towel-clad body will allow, before dropping the wash bag by the side of her bed.

She replaces the blanket once more, before sleeping remarking; "You smell of forest." I giggle, she's right, I'd only got back ten minutes ago and didn't expect to be in cahoots with the middle Jordan daughter about whether she was getting up or not.

"I'm not going to Potions," she yawns and pats me sleepily on the elbow. "But don't tell Spence, I think she'll keel over." We lay side by side in the roomy double, easily the comfiest of all our beds and I agree that I could probably skip it just this once as well.

* * *

 **Sunday, February 4th**

7 am

* * *

I gratefully gulp at my scalding earl grey; teeth still chattering from the cold air outside and feet, soaked damp with snow. For those of you who think Christmas is when winter peaks, you are sadly mistaken. February is the coldest, bleakest, most unforgivingly frozen month and my blue fingernails will prove it.

I leaf fervently through Witch Weekly, happily ignoring all other articles and celebrity gossip, until I reach beautiful page 23, adorned with Victoire's third ever printed article. They picked a stunning photo of her: all glowing skin, stylishly tousled hair and thousand-kilowatt smile.

She writes of what it means to be in love so young, when the world still seems large enough to conquer alone. I smirk upon reaching the line about Vic wanting to live further north than they do and Teddy (unnamed but recognizable) pointing out that the more northward they went, the tighter their belts got and that his, whilst fashionable, "had far too many bloody holes as it was."

She finishes with a carefree, "à bientôt" and I sigh happily into my tea, proud beyond belief of her achievements. Sixth months out of Hogwarts and already a published author, Vic had done momentously well landing the job after a chance meeting in the Ministry to visit Aunt Hermione for lunch. I turn down the glossy page ear, to make for easy finding when showing Cass later, and flip back to the beginning, excitedly anticipating juicy makeups and breakups from the wizarding world's elite.

The daily mail clatters onto my empty plate and I scoff slightly at the daily mail's headline, alleging that Aunty Gin only let Uncle Harry use his wand when she said so and knowing that a libel lawsuit would be winding it's way very quickly to their office as soon as she saw it.

Moving the lying rag to one side, I return to reading about whether blondes really do have more fun, twirling one light strand, still flecked with snow as I do so. Perhaps I should go dark like Lara, although her olive colouring is probably more suited to it than mine.

Images of cackling green-witches with ink-black hair flood my mind and I curse Grand-dad Arthur for letting us read all those bloody muggle fairy-tales. I mean, who really believes all witches had warts and knobbly fingers anyways? Sure, we use cauldrons, and yes okay, a little chanting can be involved, but 'hubble and bubble'? You'd end up with gloopy, brown sludge in actuality and not the simmering pot of evil as they fraudulently claim.

A low cough interrupts the horrid mental imagery and I look up to see Grant smiling down at me, his eyes still a little hazy with sleep.

"Hey" he mumbles and runs a hand across the slight stubble framing his chin. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all." I place the magazine down gently, his presence making me hyper aware of not behaving in my usual clumsy manner. "Are you sure you shouldn't still be asleep?" I laugh observing the slightly crumpled boy in front of me, "It's still really early for a Sunday."

He shakes his head and yawns before sitting up straight and blinking a few times, reaching for the coffee pot. "I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out, but I've got Quidditch all day and I know you're always in here early, so thought I'd try my luck now."

Stunned speechless that someone would be so intent on spending time with me, I stare at him, my wind-beaten cheeks tingeing a little pink. "Oh, that's really thoughtful." I smile and berate myself for not putting on any mascara this morning. "How come you have practice on a Sunday?"

He grins ruefully before explaining that Avery Jones has hijacked the entire Quidditch Pitch schedule and this was the only day Hufflepuff could snatch out from between his maniacally, obsessed fingers. This doesn't surprise me; Cass now has detention piled on top of her already mammoth workload for missing every first-period class this week after Avery worked them until 11pm the night previous.

"That boy is a bloody tyrant." He nods in agreement, chuckling slightly at my passionate outburst before glancing at the Witch Weekly, raising his eyebrows at my earmarked page.

"The newest way to apply lipstick?" He laughs softly. "You don't seem the type to love that stuff."

I blush lightly, surprised at his discernment of what I do and don't like, as I know pretty much nothing about him. "No, my sister wrote an article on the other side so I wanted to save it, especially as I'll receive an owl in about ten minutes from her, asking exactly what I thought."

"Oh, that makes more sense." He picks up the shiny, heavy booklet and I'm distracted slightly by Max and Kit ambling into the Great Hall, both still in pyjama bottoms and sleep mussed hair. Why they're down here so early is beyond me, but neither look superbly pleased about it, Kit's blonde eyebrows set in the sleepiest scowl I've ever seen. They sit further down the Gryffindor table, Max throwing one cursory glance in our direction before levitating the coffee pot towards him.

"Sorry, I missed that!" blushing heavily, I realise that Grant's question has flown completely over my head, too engrossed in the scowling saga to our left.

He clears his throat, looking slightly anxious before asking, "I was just wondering whether you knew what you wanted to do when you leave this place? Just because Victoire…" He gestures lightly at the discarded magazine and I gather that he means what everyone means; Just because Victoire has done so amazingly, as always.

"Oh, not really. I always wanted to be a Healer but my Charms skills are practically non-existent-" He chuckles and I continue. "So, I had to do a slight reassessment and now I'm not really sure, maybe, something with History. Do you have any idea?"

He shifts slightly and compulsively adjusts the thick, goblin made watch sitting heavily on his wrist. "I'm probably going to follow my Dad into the ministry; there's an internship in the Magical Law Enforcement department which I've just applied for, so we'll see." I'm impressed; a lot of Hogwarts' students don't think about real life until that horrid September 1st rolls around and they don't return to Hogwarts again. Admittedly, Victoire was amongst this percentage and thanked her lucky stars for good timing and our Aunt's incessant chatter that she heard about her opportunity.

"That's so cool. They have a really interesting statue in the refectory of the muggle peasant's revolt and the wizards who helped them by befuddling the overlords. You should check it out." I trail off slightly, aware that the geekiest side of my personality had just majorly leaked out. I had always been interested in both muggle and wizarding history, begging Uncle Harry to take me to work with him so I could peal off to the humongous archives, protected solely by the Weasley name and incredibly quiet footsteps.

But Grant chuckles at me good-naturedly before checking his wrist again and sighing softly. "I've got to go, I told everyone to be on the pitch for half-eight, any later and they'd be running laps 'til their next birthday." I smile, for he's renowned as a pretty lenient Quidditch Captain when it came to punishments, more favouring the 'let's do it 'til we get it right approach'.

"No worries, I hope it goes well." He rises and grabs a blueberry and pumpkin muffin from the towering stack of baked goods next to us. The elves really outdid themselves on a Sunday.

"Yeah, we'll see. They might kill me for the timing. Let me know if you have any other solo-meals coming up, it's been fun keeping you company." He winks at me and leaves the Great Hall, two little Ravenclaw girls watching him the entire time.

I almost want to pinch my arm under the table to see if I really managed to act like a normal human girl for half an hour, but refrain knowing how easily my skin bruises. Thanks Maman, I super love that you passed down that Veela trait and not unstoppable temptress or wondrous beauty.

Kit looks up and beckons me over, too much of a gentleman to let me eat alone. For all his upper-class affections, he really is a pretty lovely friend to have. Well, a pretty lovely friend with a thing for pretty beautiful women. I scoot down, clutching Witch Weekly in one hand and my tea in the other, stomach grumbling as I realise I haven't eaten anything yet, so engrossed by Grant.

"Hey, guys." Kit smiles at me from across the table, happily inhaling a mountainous bowl of mixed cereals. Max just nods, never looking up, and returns to his steaming porridge, a fact not missed by Kit or me. Huh, how weird.

I fill one bowl with fresh strawberries, blueberries and pineapple, and another with porridge, maple syrup and walnuts; a bigger breakfast than usual but well deserved after a gruelling 18-mile trek, all mostly uphill. Your guess is as good as mine as to why I'd chosen to conquer Kilroy Peak on one of the coldest days of the year and not lay snug in my bed dreaming of the Bahamas.

"So Grant, huh?" Kit smiles mischievously, his blue eyes twinkling, and I blush, choosing instead to flick him off and continue munching my sweet fruit. Max chokes slightly and I pat him hard on the back, wondering if a grain of cinnamon went down the wrong way, whilst Kit smirks unhelpfully.

"Why are you two up so early? Especially you," I point at the laughing blonde playboy. "Isn't there some poor girl's bed you should be creeping out of?" He cries out wounded, and clutches a hand to his chest, the large family-crested ring glinting with reflected sunlight.

"Very funny, Dom." He winks at me again and it's easy to see why he really does have his pick of girls. Loose curly ringlets, flecked with golden highlights, match an equally tanned complexion, plus the rumours of his countless tattoos don't hurt the 'good-boy-gone-rogue' image either. We joke that he modelled this life approach on Ava's older brother, Henry, renowned sex-god and titled Lord but pretty good laugh all the same. "We actually have detention and wanted a hearty breakfast to conquer whatever delights Slughorn tasks us with."

I smirk internally before enlightening them with my knowledge; "Sluggie will put his feet up and make you clean his apartment, I'm sure of it. Ava had to last month and apparently it was hell, all sticky boxes covered in congealed sugar." I see Max wince out of the corner of my eye whilst Kit groans and scowls once more. "That or he'll just talk about the good old days and you'll have to do practically nothing." I finish on the positive but still don't envy them. Detention is more wearisome the older you get, when you actually have things to do, like NEWT prep.

Stomping, annoyed footsteps echo from the entrance and beautiful Cassandra slides in next to Kit, replete with my oversized snitch hoodie and tiny, scarlet pyjama shorts. She pushes the plate and cutlery from before her and throws two sweater-covered arms onto the table, her head following shortly afterwards. "Dom, please may I wear your jumper? I can't find mine and this was in the clean-laundry pile."

Of course, she's already wearing it, so my answer is pretty irrelevant either way and I nod, amused at her sorry state. "Yeah, of course chick. Are you okay?" Both Max and Kit laugh as she half sobs in response, the sounds muffled only slightly by her arms.

"Avery is such a dick! We were out until 11 last night running sprints." Cass sits up, fervent in her hatred. "He even made us all have a go with the beater's bat 'in case of the worst.'" She mimics the Captain's words with a sneer. "If the worst really happens and either Imogen or Harry die, I hope we'd stop the match! Not just pick up the bats, supremely happy that Avery made us practice it!" She finishes and breathes heavily, clearly incredibly annoyed with how tunnel vision-ed their fearless leader was.

Max hands her a cup of black coffee filled with enough brown sugar to kill a horse, "Get it together Jordan. We know Avery's a maniac, and you're only upset because you hit yourself in the face with the bat." He smirks at his furious god-sister; "And Dom says Slughorn will be alright taking us for detention anyways."

Hmmm. So he'll talk about me but not to me. That's a little rude, even by my lenient standards.

I make her up a bowl of 'Pumpkinberry Parcels', the worst cereal in my humble opinion and lay it in front of her upset self, adding two extra handfuls of sugary orange rectangles for good measure.

"Thanks Dom." She munches pensively, her long legs stretched out under the table and slipper-clad feet resting by my side. "I hate Avery Jones."

Max grunts in agreement, Kit absorbed in scanning the Hufflepuff table nods absent-mindedly and I frown, still confused as to why the youngest Wood twin is intent on ignoring me.

 _Mais, n'importe quoi_. My earl grey is comfort enough on this freezing February morning, anyways.

* * *

 **Wednesday, February 7th**

9 am

* * *

Professor Binns floats pleasantly over to the desk Archie and I share, whacking down heavy paper folders and humming a merry tune of death and destruction. He is such fun to have first thing on a dismally bleak Wednesday morning. The manila packets sit ominously, both of us eyeing it with equal levels of mistrust and hatred.

"Let's just get it over with." Archie pushes mine towards me, opening the thin flap of his own with all the care of a bomb disposal expert figuring out which wire to cut. He leafs through each assignment and emits a low whine when he finally see's the summary sheet tucked in the back. "Only two marks off of 100%. You've got to be kidding me, Binns."

I roll my eyes, it was a well known fact that it was nigh on impossible to score full marks on any assignment handed in to Binns, and two marks off was pretty much the same thing anyways. Archie was a dab hand at HoM, and we enjoyed many a lively dinnertime debate over whether it was truly the troll's who initiated the great war of 1475.

I flick through each essay from last term, wincing at the illegible red scribble covering the majority of the loopy scrawl; I'd so carefully written late into the night. The summary sheet lays out each final essay grade, the sum of which equated to my overall grade for last semester and thus to 1/3 of my overall marks for the year. Basically, it's a pretty big deal.

Why Binns doesn't grade each assignment individually and hand it back afterwards is beyond me; maybe it gives him something to do in the summer when every dorm, passageway and classroom is abandoned for the hazy holiday heat.

I nervously flip up the folded top-right hand corner, a large, red 99 sitting underneath. I sit stunned, gaping like a de-puffed puffer fish and excitedly pull at Archie's sleeve, wanting him to share in my joy.

"That's wicked, Dom! Well-done babe. You deserve it." He embraces me in a one armed hug, grinning broadly and ruffles my hair for good measure. He hollers loudly, earning a disapproving glance from our beloved Professor, and snickers from the other members of the incredibly small class.

I sit back, the first blush of pride flaring across my cheeks, so pleased that my hard work paid off. Victoire would be so proud! She had spent the majority of last year with me in the dimly lit library, her imminently approaching NEWTs and my OWLs waning ever closer in the flickering light.

The typical lecturing drone begins and we push the paper wallets to the far side of the gnarled desk and slide the reams of parchment towards us; If you missed a moment of any lecture it could cost you between anywhere between 10 and 50% in the following weeks assignment.

If you can't tell; we _love_ Professor Binns.

* * *

 **Sunday, February 10th**

10:40 am

* * *

Our first Hogsmeade weekend of the year finally arrives, and with it a tower full of shrieking, hormonal girls. Bless her heart, Ava is amongst these frantic females and despite our constant affirmations, won't recognize that she has in actuality been dating Archie for over two years, and that he probably won't care whether her hair was up or down, straight or curly. They weren't even going down to the village initially anyways, just going to the cosy abandoned Transfiguration classroom and watching old black and white movies in the dark, before meeting the others for a warming butterbeer. It sounded pretty perfect to be honest.

Grant had told me, over our third early breakfast on Thursday, to be ready to leave at 11am and not to wear heels. We'd both smirked, as he'd only really seen me in running gear or uniform and never in high shoes anyways.

Cass helps me dress 'appropriately' which apparently means coercing me into the tightest thing she can find, that will hopefully keep me a little warm as well. We settle on the skinniest, black jeans Victoire gave me for Christmas and a slightly looser, camel cashmere jumper, the polo neck helping with the warmth factor.

Maman and I had fallen in love with the fuzzy creation as soon as we spied it last summer, nestled happily in a tiny Parisian boutique and lamented when they only had one left in our size. She had purchased it in near silence, allowing the shop girl to place it in a lush velvet box and tied with the silkiest cream ribbon. I had almost forgotten, when she handed it to me outside the marble hotel entrance, her silver eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement. _"Mon chéri, why would I buy this for myself, when you will look so darling in it?"_ Maman was pretty wonderful sometimes.

I zip up the knee-high dragon leather boots, shining away a tiny scuff with my sleeve, before grabbing a hairbrush and standing in front of our full-length mirror. I've been so used to pulling it up and down everyday, that I hadn't notice how much it had grown since my last visit to Paulo in Diagon Alley. The silvery-blonde waves reach below my chest and I examine the fine ends, contemplating whether another visit was necessary in the near future.

I part it on the side, pushing the right compulsively behind my ear; as Vic had done every morning before we went to the village primary school, always wanting to be near identical.

"Oh Dom! You look so beautiful!" Spence returns from more bathroom faffing, to find me standing with my head cocked to the side, trying to figure out if in fact, I do look okay or not.

"Are you sure?" She nods frantically, taking the brush from my hand and brushing down the slightly puffy back. "I wasn't sure what to do eye make-up wise, maybe just mascara or something?"

"Yeah, don't go overboard. I think the natural look suits you perfectly, plus you don't even need makeup, you goose." She finishes the touch ups and I glance in the mirror again, pretty pleased with the outcome.

"I should be going" My wand vibrates, indicating that I have five minutes to get down to the Entrance Hall. "If it goes terribly I'll either be back here or drowning my sorrows in the Three Broomsticks."

Spence laughs; "Get going Weasley. And don't come back until you've at least kissed the heartsick fool."

* * *

 **11:15 am**

* * *

"Dom, I'm so sorry. I had forgotten to grab this-" Grant holds up a scratchy canvas bag, covered carefully with a tartan blanket. "And had to go all the way back to the boy's tunnel."

I laugh easily, relieved that he was simply running late, and not humiliatingly leaving me stood up in the cold. "No worries, I haven't been here long anyways."

He embraces me in a one armed hug, the navy wool sweater cosy to the touch. "You look amazing." I smile as he backs away and hoists up the bag, his floppy grin firmly in place. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod and he leads me from the castle, casually taking my hand in his as if we did so all the time. My little palm fits snugly in his and he remarks that he likes my silver rings. I'm slightly shocked at his boldness, but like it all the same, comfortable in his confidence.

"We all have the same ones; Victoire, Maman and me." I fiddle with the stacked, diamond bands and think fondly of another visit to Paris, just the Delacour-Weasley women. He laughs as I recount the story, especially at the part of Victoire breaking a priceless tiara and hiding it under a curtain.

"So, Mr McLaggen, where are you taking me?" I look around the broad field, grateful for my concealed thermal top and socks. The ground is hard, packed solid with frozen soil particles and thankfully our feet have remained dry thus far, the day remaining cold and clear rather than wet and miserable.

"It's a surprise, you muppet." He smirks and re-adjusts his grip on my hand, smiling as our fingers intertwine once more. "And it's only about five minutes away, so don't look at me like that!"

I relax my pout and follow as he presses on, happily engaged in informing me about how similar this place is to where he lives in Wales, although his homeland is apparently a little flatter, but not by much.

"Okay, ready?" He releases my hand and jogs gently ahead, large bag still in tow. I nod and he beckons me forward, dropping the pack where he stands and holding out an arm for me. I walk up slowly, unsure about what lies below the grassy lip.

Gasping, I lean into him, shocked at the beauty before us. Rolling, evergreen hills stretch far into the distance, smattered occasionally with charcoal grey rocks covered in lilac and canary yellow flowers. A gushing river gurgles too, nestled safely between the far-reaching undulating horizon and I smile broadly, so impressed with Grant's choice of location.

"You like it?" He looks at me, brown eyes a little unsure, but keeps one arm anchored securely around my shoulders and rubs gentle warmth into the cashmere. I can't even believe he has to ask, the sheer awesomeness of our surroundings, absolutely breath-taking.

"I remember you saying that Madame Pudifoot's wasn't really your thing and you said that you liked to run on the cliff tops and stuff…" His voice echoes dimly in my mind, so shocked with how much care he's taken to make me comfortable and I reach up and kiss his cheek softly, the skin tinged pink in the brisk February air. "It's perfect. Thank you Grant."

He smiles broadly and I match it, although I'm sure his eyes are out-twinkling mine. He clears his throat, "No worries. But, it's time for brunch now, lass. I used up all my favours with the elves for this." And from the bag, he pulls the most glorious assortment of tea flasks, crusty French bread, and steaming bowls of tomato soup, all charmed to keep warm by those beautiful kitchen creatures.

I throw out the large scarlet and white blanket, amazed as to how it triples in size once unfolded and place it carefully so we can still see the natural beauty below. It catches in the breeze and blows back onto me, Grant laughing and helping me dis-robe from the mess before I tumble off the cliff. We sit comfortably side by side and indulge in the meticulously prepared food, sipping at the piping hot earl grey and breaking large chunks off of the chunky bread.

He talks about his family; what life was like growing up with an almost never-ending stream of new stepmother's, each always younger than the last and that, whilst he did have two brothers, they didn't feel as much like family as his Hufflepuff friends. I marvel at how confident he is in sharing the most private parts of his feelings and family life, never faltering for nerves or shyness.

He asks repeatedly what joy there is to be found in running so early in the morning, his preference found with a late night circuit around the lake or Quidditch Pitch. We bicker playfully and I don't miss the hand that comes around my waist, holding me to him as we recline cosily on the thick blanket, protected somewhat by his proficient heating charm.

"And to celebrate not being amongst the masses-" Grant leans behind him to grab the canvas bag, a zipped, bottom layer still concealed. He reaches into the depths and pulls out a dripping cold, gold-covered bottle of champagne and vast punnet of ripe, scarlet strawberries, the juice dripping slightly from the aerated holes underneath.

"Did you sell the elves a body part!" He chuckles at my shock and wandlessly summons two champagne flutes to float in front of him, dropping a strawberry in both. Filling them up to the brim, the bubbles fizz gently as we clink them together, and smiling gently at eachother. I sip lightly at the drink, having been inducted into the snobbish world of French wines by Grand-Pere and therefore, well able to taste a fraud. However, the bubbles are deliciously crisp, the strawberry juice delicately sweetening the fragrant drink.

He smiles mischievously, as if completely at ease on a frozen hilltop, drinking a bottle of champagne worth at least 100 Galleons and acting as if I deserved it all. He sets down the glass and lies back, holding out an arm for me to lay with him.

We lay on that chilly cliff top for two hours, me teasing him for wearing contact lenses you can only detect when incredibly close, and he, for my inability to pronounce the word 'penguin'. We bicker and tickle and play-fight until he stops, hovering only a few inches above me, breathing heavily and grinning.

"You're trapped now, little one."

I giggle and look side to side, an escape plan fruitless with his strong arms either side of my head. "I think I might just be." I pout, biting my bottom lip and trying to open my slightly champagne hooded, eyes as wide as humanly possible.

Grant groans above me. "Don't do that Dominique-" He pauses and closes the gap between us. "Or I'll have to do this." And he narrows the space between us, placing firm, confident pressure with his lips on mine. He kisses me softly; firm lips a warm relief from the cool breeze still whipping at our skin between the warming charm's layers of insulation. We move in rhythm, and I run a silver ringed hand through his hair, looping the wavy curls around my fingers and giggling against his lips as he groans again.

He rubs my side with a large palm and anchors an arm firmly around my waist, pressing his body flush against mine. This isn't at all what it had felt like with Max; no fumbling hands and unsure glances but a certainty in his movements. A certainty that he actually wants _me_.

It's a pretty nice feeling to have.

We go not further and I'm quietly relieved that his hands remain respectfully restrained and not approaching territories that I'd rather continue unconquered, at least for the moment. We walk back towards the school hands intertwined, swigging heavily at the still half-full champagne bottle, and reach the front gates as Kit and Cass disappear along the lane to the village.

"I said I'd meet them all for a drink afterwards" The alcohol must be muting my senses as I'd never normally be so bold as to suggest leaving a perfectly good date for a loud, crowded pub. "Do you mind?"

Grant, ever the gentleman shakes his head good-humouredly. "No not at all-" He presses soft lips to mine and rests his hands on my waist, rubbing gently at the fuzzy fabric. "You're so beautiful, Dom." I blush heavily. Never has a boy I'm _actually_ interested in, been so forthright with his compliments, especially not when he wasn't half drunk or looking to get laid.

"Thanks for today Grant, it was wonderful." I smile up at him, crossing my arms to try and contain some body heat.

"No worries, love. You might want to hurry if you want to catch up." He gestures at the winding path the others have disappeared over and I kiss his wind beaten cheek, before waving an " _à bientôt"_ and striding quickly to catch up with the others.

"Cass" I shout against the wind, the breezy gusts of frigid air whipping my words away with them. I change tack. "Kit! Kit!" The blonde playboy finally turns around, face set in a thin frown, most likely from bickering with Cass about whether the earth is definitely round or not. He stops and waits for my shorter steps to catch up with the group.

"Don't you look pretty, Miss Weasley-" Kit twirls me round by the finger and I giggle, still feeling the comfortable fizz of expensive champagne deep within my veins. He stops and looks me up and down, head slightly cocked to the side like an expectant puppy. "Wait, have you been drinking?" I giggle again and he bursts out laughing. "Little Dommie is drunk and it's not even 4 o'clock."

Ava, Archie and Max head back towards us but the happy couple are too wrapped up in their own petting to even realise what everyone's yelling about.

"So, he got you drunk?" Max laughs lowly, and sneers. "Classy, Dom."

And just like that, the giddy bubble of tipsiness is burst and the cold wind pricks at the embarrassed tears burning behind my eyes. I hug woolly arms to my body and speed up a little, linking arms with Cass and only half-listening as she recounts every new and terrible way Avery annoys her. Over my shoulder, I see Kit punch Max in the arm and shake his curly head before jogging slightly to catch up with us. The champagne fizz feels more hollow than before and I laugh only half-heartedly at Cassie's jokes.

Why couldn't I just stay with Grant on that halcyon hilltop and not let everything be ruined like usual?

 _Why_ , indeed.

* * *

 ** _Please Read and Review, I really do look forward to all the constructive and not-so constructive criticism._**

* * *

Thank you to the lovely users who took the time to review after the last chapter, I love reading your thoughts (Ray and You Know Who) and agree that I originally viewed Dom as a more spunky, rebellious character but she took shape slowly in the planning process and evolved as so. Thank you for your kind words, it was wonderful to read!

* * *

 _Mais n_ _'importe quoi!_ \- But, whatever / But, it's not important

 _À bientôt_ \- See you later / See you soon


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, February 14th**

7:30am

Hufflepuff Common Room

* * *

"Kit!" The tall blonde stops mid way to the door, grimacing slightly as he turns and if I really had to guess, I'd wager that I'd just caught him red-handed, slipping out from a Hufflepuff girl's bed. Grant absentmindedly continues rubbing small circles into my left calf, the movement easing any residual ache. Strong thumbs move purposefully over the meshed Lycra, his other hand holding my legs steadily in place over his lap. He looks up as my call breaks the easy, early morning quiet of creaking floorboards overhead and the gently hiss of the Hufflepuff Common Room fire.

"Mate. Walk of shame on Valentines Day?" Grant laughs gruffly, peering over his shoulder and Kit has the grace to look a little ashamed, grinning whilst compulsively running a hand through bed-tousled locks.

"Hah. Yeah. Gods, how tragic." I giggle at Kit's crumpled appearance; the creased shirt and apparently MIA school tie a clear give-away of his pre-Valentines' illicit rendezvous. No doubt this conquest should have been kept a secret, known only by the freezing, stone staircases as he crept soundlessly back to Gryffindor Tower.

"And, is that a hickey I spy Christopher?" Kneeling up from the sofa, I inspect his neck more closely, the blossoming bruise rubicund against otherwise clear skin. The purpley-maroon wound grows ragged around the edges, splintering into crisscrossing crimson lines.

"Merlin Weasley. Give me a break. It's not even 8 o'clock yet!" He swats my hands away with a large, signet-ringed paw and laughs, throwing me a roguish wink. "Why are you two even up?"

"Grant came running me with this morning." I flump back down onto the cushions, my jogging partner catching me easily about the waist and holding firm. How he does these casual manoeuvres, I'll never know, but I'm not complaining. His hands feel nice on my hips and the renewed pressure on my strained calf is bliss incarnate.

"Well I hope you put him through his paces Dommy, I don't want Hufflepuff making it too easy to win the Cup this year." Kit shakes back his unbuttoned shirt cuffs, glancing at the smooth wide watch face. "Now if you fine people will excuse me, I'm off to sleep through double-transfiguration. Valentines Day can go to hell."

I mumble goodbye as Grant's steady motions lull me into a post-endorphin-high heaven, my bones weary from the biting February chill.

"What say we head down to the kitchens, for a hearty Valentines breakfast, accompanied by an Irish coffee or two?"

I grin, my eyes still closed as Grant's leans down to be heard, his stubble scratching slightly as hot breath tickles my ear lobe.

"That sounds pretty bloody wonderful actually, Mr McLaggen."

My shriek echoes around the deserted, burrow-like common room as he scoops me up easily from the sofa, before placing me down gently next to him.

Usually I'd agree with Kit, Valentines Day could go to hell. But this one seems okay. More than okay, actually. And I haven't thought about Max once.

Dom 1 – World 0.

* * *

 **Saturday, February 17th**

3pm

* * *

I bash my frost kissed mittens together, tiny flecks of snow flurrying happily from the fluffy pink wool. Were it not for the heat charm darling Ava had cast over the Gryffindor seating area, I'm pretty sure we'd all be spectating snowmen with frost bitten lips and blue fingers.

 _Go, Go Grffindor! Go, Go Gryffindor!_

I join in eagerly with the chant, the rumble of excitement bubbling up from deep within the wooden benches as cold feet stomp in time with the rhythm. Kit zooms past, a blur of red and gold movement on my peripheral as I try to spy Cass, high above the actual game play.

 _And we have the wonderful Cassandra Jordan circling the pitch, keeping a beady eye out for that tricky bastard of a snitch, no doubt-_

Ava prods my elbow and nods towards the Staff box, to see little Mindy Jordan have the microphone wrestled from her grip by a more than irate Madame Sprout.

 _OKAY. I won't say the word bastard again. Yes, I KNOW I just said again it but I was making sure it was the actual word 'bastard' that you didn't want me to say, eurgh-_

The tussle has now attracted the attention of almost everyone, as Mindy wrangles the magical megaphone from her Head of House, whose face is turning deepest maroon.

 _Yes I understand. Yes I'm sorry. Can I go back to commentating now? OOOOOOKAY. It's Kit MacMillan with the Quaffle, both Woods tailing him._

 _Is this the infamous V Formation that Avery Jones has been dreaming up? Yes… Yes I believe it is! MacMillan with the quaffle-_

I tune Min out, her commentary always the highlight of any match although I know she'd much prefer to be playing. After an incident last semester, in which she had accidentally called the Slytherin Captain "a waste of skin" and then hexed his broom to buck wildly, Madame Hooch had banned her from playing this term. Poor Min, she's her own worst enemy.

Gryffindor's undulating crowd erupt in wild appreciation as Max slips past Ravenclaw's

Keeper and pockets the Quaffle in the far right hoop.

 _YESSSSSS MAXXY! Sorry, sorry. And Max Wood has scored for Gryffindor, once again pulling their lead even farther ahead of Ravenclaw! Come on Blues! Get it together!_

Max raises his fist, zooming past the Gryffindor section with the glint of competition, steely in his clear eyes and I'm pretty sure I can feel the butterflies present in every Gryffindor girl's heart, flap their wings as one.

"Yes, Max!" Ava hollers through her gloves, her cheeks tinged pink and eyes bright with excitement. She puts a duffle-coated arm around me, and jumps in time to the Gryffindor's chants.

"Come _on_ Dommy!"

I grimace and jump in time with her, the movement strange for my frozen limbs and wince slightly as I land, expecting my buggered calf to twinge, but I descend painlessly. Maybe Grant really does have magic hands?

* * *

 **10 pm**

* * *

"Dominiiiiiique, why'd you bring a non to our celebrations!"

I laugh at Archie's teasing, fully aware that only half of the crowd attending are Gryffindor's. In fact, if I strained a little, Mindy could be made out taking bets from her Hufflepuff friends on whether Max really did sleep naked or not. Of course she knew the answer, it'd been a running joke between their families that Cass was permanently scarred after walking in on him dozing, _and_ at full mast, when they were younger.

"How's it going?" Arch reaches out a large hand and grips Grant's in his; the firm shake a gesture of kindness after Max had dismissed him quickly, with a curt nod and absolutely no physical contact let alone a handshake.

"Yeah, good thanks mate. Congratulations for today."

"Cheers, man. Wasn't a super tough match tactics wise, but good practice nonetheless."

Grant nods knowingly and I zone out, spying Cass in the corner clutching a bottle of firewhiskey giggling with Ava and Max. He looks so happy and carefree when he laughs like that. Like the world could collapse onto his shoulders, and he'd shrug it off with a wink and a smirk and life would go on. I wonder if I dated his brother Hamish, or begged Katie to name me a goddaughter, he'd laugh with me like that. Who knows?

"-anyways guys, I think Ava is two shots away from alcohol poisoning and I cant deal with her whining tomorrow. Catch you later."

Archie winks before making his way over to the most mischievous looking threesome ever, stopping occasionally for celebratory handshakes and pats on the back as Ava dances ever more precariously. Merlin alone knows how we're meant to be adults next year.

"Come with me-" Grant holds out a hand and duck as he draws us into the nearest alcove, holding the low hanging tapestry for me to slip under.

He replaces the dense crimson fabric so as to partially cover the nook's entrance and I giggle as he rests a hand on the wall behind me edging in closer, the crisp smell of his aftershave enveloping us both. The common room is stifling, each gyrating body meshing into the soaring temperature grid and this recess is a cooling blessing to us both. I laugh as he pretends to seductively take a long drink from the dripping ice-cold beer, the glass glistening having just been plucked from the frozen beverage-filled crate.

His floppy smile is contagious and whether it's the firewhiskey's idea or not, I think I really want him. His eyes darken and I bite my lip, unaware as to exactly how to initiate something I've never really done before but he spans a large grip across my stomach, the palm flat and large against the tight, ribbed material and I wonder if maybe he's already started. He rubs along my waist before pulling firmly, my body flush against his as he brushes the hair from my face.

"Stop giggling, Dominique." His voice is hot in my ear and when he brushes closer a shiver runs down the entire length of my back, the proximity of our situation alarmingly comfortable. "Or I'll take you back my bed right now." Grant nuzzles into my neck before pressing soft icy lips against the pulse point and I gasp, the firm pressure a welcome advancement. He groans into my skin, the brush of his stubble more electrifying than painful and I place an unsure hand on his stomach, the thin layer of material an unwelcome barrier. He runs his tongue from pulse to earlobe before tracing back again, and I moan; the sound released before I can catch it in my throat.

I blush at my actions, embarrassed to be so open in such a public place but thankful for the slight privacy, whilst Grant laughs and swigs again from the ice-clouded bottle, pulling me close to nestle into his neck.

Well - pulling me close to nestle into his neck, before I slam into the wall, Grant's body thrust into mine with all the force of a hurricane. All legs, arms and angles tangled in the tapestry, lay Cassandra Jordan, proudly clutching her unharmed Firewhiskey bottle aloft.

"Cass, what the actual fuck!"

"Dommmmmmieeee, I'm sorrrry. I was dancing with Ma-" _hiccup "_ With Max and I spun an-" She dissolves into a fit of giggles, humming slightly as she sips delicately at the enemy bottle and pats my leg, which I think is an apology pat. I highly doubt she's been sipping it that gently if she's as plastered as this. Bloody Cassandra.

I'm always saying bloody Cassandra actually. She may as well change her name. Change your name Cass, you wreckhead!

"Merlin Jordan, sort it out!" Max disentangles his god-sister from her resplendent reclining position, and sets her upright again, albeit an incredibly wobbly version of upright. His laugh rumbles and dies as his gaze moves up to rest on Grant and me still entangled and pressed against the wall.

"Ha. Figures. Super classy, Dom." His voice is low and malevolent, any mirth in his eyes, completely extinguished.

"Sorry. What, mate?" The easy, celebratory mood evaporates as Grant turns, still clutching the dripping beer bottle, which is actually creating a puddle on the stone slabs, and moves back towards the common room.

"I'm not your mate, _mate."_ Max sneers the last word and steps towards us, almost nose to nose with Grant, both boys apparently itching for a fight.

"And she's not your girlfriend, _mate._ So why don't you back off?" They square up to each other, the tension violently palpable.

"Yeah, well we all know how you treat your girlfriends, _mate._ So why don't you fuck off." Max spits back, and I don't even think he realises he's convulsively opening and closing his fist, obviously warming up for the fight he thinks is about to take place.

I look around the common room wildly, trying in vain to spot Archie or Kit, amongst those partygoers still revelling, and realise that Kit's actually been MIA since the match ended. Bloody MacMillan.

Thank Jesus, Mary and Merlin, some genius soul has grabbed Archie from Ava's drunken grip and Max's doppelgänger descends the boy's dormitory stairs, three at a time before striding swiftly over to the debacle occurring at my doorstep.

"Is there a problem here, boys?" Archie stands shoulder to shoulder with his twin, obviously keen to restrain Max if he charges at Grant.

"Nah. No problem at all, Arch. McLaggen was just leaving."

"No he wasn't Max." All three boys turn at the sound of my voice, echoing slightly in the little niche and shaking slightly with tightly wound anger. I'm so fucking sick of Max Wood thinking he can talk to me like shit and then ignore me completely.

"You're drunk and you're acting like a fucking jerk, so stop. Grant let's go." I grab Grant's free hand, and move swiftly past the Wood brothers, not missing the murderous look Max sends my way.

We emerge into the cooler corridor air, permeated only by the Fat Lady's gentle snores and whistling winds and I keep walking, unsure of where exactly I'm headed to. Grant follows dutifully, but pulls back as we reach the staircase and holds me squarely by the shoulders.

"Dom, stop. Are you okay?" I bite my lip, the sting a welcome frustration easer. "I'm really sorry about that, I don't know what his deal is-"

I half smile, aware that it doesn't look in the least bit joyful. "No, it's really okay. He's just such a cock sometimes, when he drinks. It's fucking rude and I'm sorry you had to bear the brunt of it."

Grant laughs and I feel the tension in my stomach uncoil slightly at the easy gesture.

"It's alright babe. Max Wood isn't the first or the worst of those I've had to bear. Don't worry about it at all." He pulls me to him; wrapping strong arms around my goose bump covered body.

"Why don't you go back and just head straight to bed, and tomorrow we'll forget the dickhead that is Wood?"

I nod, trying not to let the traitorous tears run free over my embarrassed cheeks. He cuddles me a little tighter, before gently kissing my forehead and descending down the freezing floating stairs.

I pace back to the common room, my footsteps echoing loudly in the completely barren corridors. One fat tear, rolls down hot and unchecked and I wipe it away furiously, annoyed that Max Wood has this much power over my emotions.

Crawling back through the portrait hole, I find the party still in full swing but both Wood brothers absentee. Ascending the dormitory stairs quickly, I push open the sixth year girl's door; eager to crawl into my loyal bed and forget this night ever bloody happened.

So physically bumping into Max and Archie in the doorway, having clearly just put a passed out Cass to bed, was the very last thing I wanted ever to occur.

Archie shakes his head slightly, before squeezing my arm and mouthing an apologetic " _sorry"_ whilst Max freezes, his stony face set.

"Dom, can we-"

"Just fuck off, Max." I spit out the words, inwardly begging him to leave before more frustrated tears spill out. "Please. Just. Fuck. Off."

He sighs and moves out of my way before finally vacating our shared bedroom I fall asleep, my damp pillow, hot with tears and my head already heavy from the insistent headache that always follows a good cry.

Cass rolls over and smacks her head against the solid, wooden bedpost and apparently doesn't feel a thing.

Bloody Cass and bloody Firewhiskey.

And bloody Max Wood. I hate him.

* * *

 ** _Authors Note_**

 _Hi guys! I'm so sorry about me being so rubbish at updating, but I'm not letting this piece go without a fight. I really appreciate all the reviews I've gotten, despite being slightly MIA. This chapter is shorter than usual, but the next is 75% finished so expect it soon now that Uni work has slightly died down._

 _Also, I'm contemplating setting up a tumblr or something so I can share with you what I think the characters look / dress like. Let me know if this would be of interest to you :) Once again, super appreciative of the continued support and lovely messages I receive._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Wednesday, February 21st**

7pm

Gryffindor Common Room

* * *

"Dom, sit up or I cant do it."

Yes ma'am.

Drill Sergeant Spence prods at my shoulders once more and I straighten up, the squishy sofa creaking in disapproval and she resumes braiding, or _attempting to,_ braid my hair. Last time she tried, Cass and I had one braid between us.

As in, it was connected.

You got it. She braided our heads together.

"Where's Jord? Ava asks, "And why is your hair so bloody slippery!"

Her fumbling fingers attempt to catch the strands as they slide out of her grasp, each fine hair uncooperative to say the least. Mercì Maman, for yet another useless Veela trait. Silver hair that doesn't do anything. Joy of all joys.

"Quidditch practice, I think. I saw Max and Arch leave with their brooms a few hours ago."

To say I saw them leave may be a slight overstatement. I watched both clatter down the boy's stairs before pretending to be so engrossed in the War of the Pollonwocks that not even a falling hippogriff could shock me. I don't think they bought it, but n'importe quois. I didn't particularly fancy having Max give me one of his intensely awkward, drawn out stares. Take your eyes and fuck off.

I continue; "They weren't dressed in full kit though, so maybe Avery's running a strength session or something-"

The portrait hole crashes open and a broom flies through before clattering loudly next to us. Two sneakers follow, thrown haphazardly with what seems to be reckless abandon for the personal safety of those inside the common room.

Finally a wild creature crawls through replete with tangled hair and wide saucer like eyes.

"Hey Cass-"

Wild Thing cuts Ava off mid-greeting, waving a slim hand to quiet the student-come-hairdresser extraordinaire.

"You are never going to believe what just happened."

We stare at Jord with apprehension, for it looks like she just jumped headfirst into a bonfire. Mismatched rugby socks, one of which I'm sure belongs to Hamish Wood, Lycra running shorts and my old faithful sweatshirt.

I move to pluck a few of the more obvious twigs, the thin wood snarled into her usually tree-free hair.

"Avery Jones just tried to kiss me."

I freeze, my arm suspended before jumping up in unison with Spence.

"WHAT!" We ignore the scowls of displeasure from slumbering portraits and grab Cass by the arm dragging her down onto the squishiest sofa.

"I don't' even know what happened, one minute I was showing him some of the conditioning exercises Uncle Ol did with me, and next thing he's grabbed my neck and suddenly his face is literally this-" She holds up a hand directly in front of her face, "close to me and his eyes are shut!"

"Did you?" I wince slightly at the volume of Spence's question; thankful everyone is at supper and not witnessing the emotional scarring of Cassandra Jordan.

"NO! I sprinted all the way back! Accidentally cut through that ginormous bush by the greenhouses, which fucking hurt because I wasn't wearing any bloody shoes-"

I start to giggle, imaging a flailing Cass sprinting away from a very bemused Avery and directly into shrubbery. Spence is already gone, not even attempting to form complete sentences. "Avery. Jones. Kiss. You." She gasps out between laughs, clutching at her stomach before breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down.

"Guyyyyys. Don't. It was terrible." Cass's whining is all Ava needs and she's off again, fat tears rolling free down her cheeks.

"Was anyone else there?" I ask whilst inspecting her hair for any more leaves.

"No, thank god. The others went straight up to supper after laps. Could you imagine if one of the twins had been there though?" She shudders at the thought before groaning again. "Do I have to quit the team?"

This sobers Spence up. "No! Of course you don't, Jord! It was a silly moment and he's probably super embarrassed about it. Chances are it'll be something you both just ignore forever."

"Ahhhh, ignore forever. Yes. I like that." She sighs happily as I start to brush through her hair, "Have you guys had supper?"

I shake my head, "Granny Molly sent me a 'care package', which is actually a box with enough food to kill an army. We were just going to set up camp in front of the fire and work our way through it."

"I love your Grandma. I still hate Avery Jones. But I do love your Grandma."

Purring happily, Cass curls up on the sofa, her head in my lap and watches as Ava unpacks two cake tins, a biscuit box and two plates of bacon sandwiches, Gram has somehow managed to charm to always remain hot. She may get on abit at Vic and me for being too thin, but Merlin do I love this side of her worry!

* * *

 **Thursday, February 22nd**

2pm

History of Magic

* * *

"He is sorry, Dom." Archie whispers fervently across the desk, keeping one eye on an oblivious floating Binns.

"Did he physically say the words, 'I'm extremely sorry for being a dick all the time' though? Because if he didn't I don't hugely care."

I shrug off Archie's affirmations of his twin's holier than thou apologetic state, knowing fully well that Max Wood apologises for exactly nothing, ever.

"Well, not those words. But I can tell. He feels like a fucking tool."

"He is a fucking tool!" I agree.

Arch clatters his chair towards mine; the aged wood scratching against freezing stone slabs and rests a shaggy head on my shoulder. He smells like orange and cloves. Will have to report to Spence that he is most definitely using the cologne she bought for him. I mean, I bloody hoped he would, we tried every cologne _and_ at one point perfume under the sun trying to pick the best one.

"I know. He is. But he's also my only brother that shares my birthday and we both really want you to come."

I roll my eyes, trying to stop the smile escaping as Archie looks up at me with a puppy-dog expression to rival the best.

"Alright. But I'm coming for you, okay?

Archie smiles and his mouth crinkles in that infectious way, maybe he was a puppy in a past life?

"I knew I loved you, Weasley."

Binns floats eerily past, his drone uninterrupted by the fact that half the class is absent and the present half, asleep.

"I love you too, you goon. Now, what exactly are the plans for the big 17?"

"Well-"

I zone out as Archie rattles on about drinking, and more drinking with a splash of… Yep. More drinking.

Max obviously hadn't said anything remotely similar to being sorry but I loved Arch too much for trying to push the subject. I think Max has just been selfish for a long time and doesn't want to share his toys.

It's been the six of us for so long now that I guess Grant is an unwelcome addition to him. But seriously though, did I make a fuss when Lara was slinking around everyday? Did I start fights when they cuddled and kissed and fondled and nuzzled and euurgh. Just everything about them really? No!

"-And hopefully Hamish and Hen will make it up, which would be amazing. Although, Sof can't come as the hospital's put her on night shifts again."

The eldest Wood, Hamish and Ava's older brother, Henry were notorious party legends. I think it's mostly due to the fact they're outrageous drunks and outrageously good looking. A lethal combo.

I always think it's so sweet the way Sofia has been literally swallowed by the Woods. She was always their god-sister but since she and Hamish started dating, they've done all but branded her with their Kinross coat of arms.

"Ah, I would have loved to see Sof but that's so exciting about Hen and Hamish!"

Archie nods away, obviously envisioning the impending carnage to impact Hogwarts, grinning at the thought.

The Wood twins are coming of age.

I feel my liver twinge.

* * *

 **Saturday, February 24th**

 **9 am**

* * *

Apparently, magical glitter is semi-permanent. A fact, neither Max, Archie or Kit chose to investigate when planning this birthday extravaganza.

Let me paint a picture.

500 Gryffindor students breakfasting merrily.

Platters upon platters of croissants, coffee, orange and pumpkin spice muffins and bacon, steaming gently.

Two boys turning 17;

Approximately seven thousand fireworks; and

6 tonnes of magical glitter.

Which apparently doesn't brush, wash or curse off.

And why Ava is inspecting my almost entirely naked body, trying to find the pesky bugger that's taken to dancing across my body.

"How did it even get inside your clothes?" She deplores, swatting at what she thinks is the mite, but actually a freckle. This is going to take an age.

"I have no idea! But I swear it wasn't dancing earlier?"

"Nooo. No it wasn't at all. I think this must be Kit's work. The other two aren't nearly as handy at charms. If it wasn't their birthday.."

I giggle at Spence's dark mumblings, imagining the three towering boys being told off by a formidable Ava.

"You know Hen's coming tonight?"

She stops her ministrations to peer at me.

"My brother, Henry?"

"Yes you muppet. Brother. Henry. Lord Henry Spencer-Brown of Somewhere and Something."

She swats at me playfully. "As if! I haven't seen him properly since Christmas! According to Mummy he has some new Swedish girlfriend. Malkin Model I think- AH! GOT IT. Come here you little bugger."

Spence keeps her hands cupped and deposits the dancing sparkling fiend out of the window and hopefully down the back of some slimy Slytherin.

"It will be so nice to see him. I've tried owling, but you know how they are with writing replies. And it's not like my phone works here, so I can't even ring and make sure he's not eloped to South America with another random woman."

"Another random woman?"

"Yeah, in his fifth year. I've never seen Dad go so red."

Apparently Ava has this knack for dropping giant bombshells mid conversations and acting as if they were the most normal things in the world.

"Sorry, he eloped-"

"Spencer! Weasley! Downstairs now! The boys want to have a snowball fight, despite there being precisely no snow- Ow! Gerroff me Max! OW!"

Cass's tuneful voice floats up the girl's staircase and Ava and I grin at each other before scrambling for, well any piece of clothing in my case and a coat and gloves in hers.

No doubt this would be an ice fight, due to there not being decent snowfall in weeks. If I die, I want Vic to have my clothes and Louis my..

I'll think of something for Lou.

* * *

 **8 pm**

* * *

Grant slips in next to me at supper, the Great Hall bare of most 5th, 6th and 7th years, no doubt prepping for the first blowout of the year.

"Hey, you." He kisses my forehead gently and I sigh, my stomach happily flip-flopping over.

"Grant! Hi!" Spence welcomes our new arrival gleefully, prodding Cass in the side to stop talking about Avery Jones' looming face. I hate to say it, but my darling best friend has become a little bit of a broken record.

 _"_ _Why was only one eye shut? Do you think he lunges at all girls? Did I give off a signal to maul my face!"_ and so on and so forth.

It has been never-ending.

"Hey Ava, Cassie." He nods at both, smiling the twinkly easy smile he's so proficient at.

"Are you headed to the Wood's thing tonight?"

I nod, sipping gently from the steaming hot chocolate cradled in my freezing hands. Who said running in just a t-shirt wasn't clever?

Oh. Everybody says that? Cool.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, it's Archie's birthday too and Hamish and Henry will be there, and I haven't seen them in ages. I think it'll be fun." I hesitate before continuing, "You should come!"

He laughs deeply, the quiet rumble comforting.

"I don't know if that's a good idea babe. It's the guy's birthday, do you not think it would be asking for trouble?"

"No. You're with me and I'm sure Damien and Jack will be going with your Hufflepuff lot anyways?"

He nods. "Yeah they are, but just wanted to check whether the invite extended to me as well."

Cass pipes up from across the gnarled wooden table, "Of course it does. Archie gets on with you all so well. Max can suck it up for one night."

God love you Cass.

"Brilliant. Alright then girls, I'll see you later." He smiles once more and my tummy somersaults, up into the chest region and back down again.

"Bye, babe." Grant squeezes my thigh before returning to the Hufflepuff table.

Max. Grant. Me. And a Gringotts vault worth of alcohol. Mon Dieu.

* * *

 **10 pm**

* * *

"Are you sure this one's okay?"

Cass fidgets in the extremely form fitting dress, pulling at the red material.

"Jord. You look the definition of a million bucks. Or whatever the saying is in Galleons."

"Okay. Okay." She turns once more in the mirror, inspecting the whole effect. In all honesty, she looks like a supermodel: all slim golden legs and glossy black hair, tumbling down slim shoulders. "I haven't been out of uniform or training kit in so long, I think that's why it feels so weird."

"What feels weird?" Spence emerges from the bathroom in her bra and tights, flicking a stray hair from her immaculately applied lip-gloss.

"Nothing, Cass is just fussing. What are you wearing?"

"Ummmm. Probably my leather mini, you know, the one with the zips and Cass's black leotard."

I nod approvingly before padding over to my trunk and picking out the navy dress Victoire had spent three hours trying to decide over, taken it home and decided she indeed did hate it and handed it directly down to me.

Shimmying into the material, I tie the rope neckline in a tight halter style before shaking my hair out and dropping to the floor in search of my roman sandals.

"Ah! YES!" I see Cass rummage even more aggressively within her trunk before flinging the dark top onto Ava's bed and pulling two clinking bottles of Firewhiskey from its depths.

"I knew Sofia had smuggled some into our trunks. They're novelty Christmas flavours." She holds out one to me. "That one is magical marshmallow and this one is sinful cinnamon."

She swigs heavily from the bottle, before wincing and passing it along to Spence.

"Also, bearing in mind that these are approximately pure trouble, I need all of us to keep an eye out for Mindy. Knowing Sof, she would have thought it unfair to give me some and Min none, despite it being far, _far_ wiser."

Cass shakes her head at their older sister's unfailing loveliness, before fanning her mouth wildly, the alcohol burning a warming path no doubt.

Eyeing my bottle cautiously, I peer at the label. _Magical Marshamallow…_ hmmm _._ Tonight would be interesting.

* * *

 **10:30 pm**

* * *

Finally hustling Cass out of the dormitory we find both birthday boys surrounded by presents, bottles, chocolates and glitter ( **That** bloody glitter) in the middle of the common room.

Archie wolf whistles and reaches around to grab Spence and pull her into his lap, whilst two unusual faces look up at our arrival.

"That's still my baby sister Wood. Birthday or not."

"Henry!" Ava springs up and leaps towards her brother, pulling him into a massive hug. "I didn't even know you were coming!"

Henry laughs at his little sister, before kissing her forehead. "Yes, little Evangeline. Someone has to supervise the mayhem and god knows Hamish is fuck all help."

"Yeah alright mate. Ava, come and give your favourite almost-brother a hug." Hamish reaches towards Spence, who embraces his warmly before pulling back and slinging one arm around Henry.

"Ah I'm so happy to see you guys." She has obviously had a copious amount of the sinfully cinnamon firewhiskey, if she's this emotional already.

Hamish laughs and ruffles her hair affectionately, his dark brown eyes crinkling as he observes the merry gal. "Us too lass. Now where are your partners in crime?"

Henry glances over Hamish's head to spy Cass and I observing Ava's grand (drunken) entrance with pure amusement. Laughing I move towards Hen and hug him gently, earning many an envious look from the other common room dwellers. It had to be said. Henry Spencer-Brown truly was a gift to women everywhere.

"Hey D. Good to see you." He says and I smile in response, happy to have at least some of the old gang back, even it just for an illicit visit.

"You too, Hen. It's been too long. Thank god you haven't eloped to South America or anything..."

"Has Ava been telling that story again, it was bloody 5th year!" He laughs good-naturedly and looks towards his little sister who is trying to explain to Archie the exact taste of cinnamon firewhiskey. Why she doesn't just grab it from the dorm and let him try some is beyond me.

"-and then he literally fell towards my face with his face. It was traumatic Hamish." I look to my left and Cass is wildly recreating the exact moment Avery Jones had attempted to maul her again. Her inhibitions are obviously a tad lower if that sensitive information is now projected into the common room. Avery's a big boy and apparently Cass does kiss and tell. Or doesn't kiss but does tell. I mean, who actually cares?

Hamish is laughing away at his god-sister, as she gestures wildly with gold-bangled hands, his beard shaking slightly as she recounts running through the bush.

I sense movement and spy Max excusing himself from the hubbub surrounding the sofa reserved for birthday boys only and makes his way over.

"Dom, can I talk to you quickly?" Birthday boy of the dickhead variety asks in a low voice.

If Hamish thinks I've missed the look he's just thrown Archie, he's sorely mistaken. Such stirrers.

Not wanting to make a scene, I agree and follow him to the bottom of the girls staircase, where we step just slightly inside the entranceway, affording a tiny bit of privacy.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened the other night." I stand up straighter, surprised at how earnestly he's looking at me. "I just know about Grant and I didn't want you mixed up in all of it." His gruff voice is dampened slightly by the hubbub occurring just feet away, but it sounds crystal clear in the tiny space.

"I'm a big girl Max." I eye him carefully; trying to figure out exactly how much firewhiskey or other substances he's consumed.

"Yeah, I know that. Just be careful, alright?"

What in the world is he talking about! Grant is the human equivalent of a charming cloud. Considering it's his birthday I decide to be nice to the great twit and smile warmly, excited for the night ahead.

"Right, okay. Will do."

Max shifts, visibly relaxing now that the awkward air has passed. He coughs before nodding as if we'd just agreed a business deal.

"Happy Birthday, by the way. Not sure if I said it this morning." I laugh and reach up to hug Max, his strong arms circling my waist and I shiver as hot breath tickles my bare shoulder.

He starts laughing, those green eyes crinkling in the way I've dreamed of for months and kisses me quickly on the cheek.

"Come on. Let's get back to the celebrations, lass. I hear they're all here for me y'know."

I roll my eyes at him and wade back into the every growing throng of excitable Gryffindors.

* * *

 **12PM**

* * *

"Time to move! Find a buddy and move quickly in pairs. I want a speedy and efficient evacuation. Knees to chest people! Knees to chest!"

The room laughs at an already incredibly merry Archie who sways slightly on top of the worn table and people amble languorously to the portrait hall, buddy finding incredibly hard when you're well on the way to being wasted.

"I'm just gonna grab the firewhiskey, wait for me." I call across to Cass who is in animated conversation with Hen, once again gesturing wildly although I pray it isn't about Avery Jones.

Unsure whether she's heard me or not, I sprint up the staircase and into the dorm which largely resembles a crash site. Rooting under discarded clothes I find both bottles although one is definitely without a lid. Scrambling under the beds I locate the fucker before dashing once more to a rapidly dwindling common room. One quick scan indicates that Cass has indeed left and didn't hear me, but Hamish and Henry are still dawdling by the fire.

I hear Henry and Hamish murmuring rapidly as I wander over;

"Since when in merry hell has Cassie Jordan looked like that!"

"Mate, she's practically my sister. She is in actual fact my god-sister and my girlfriend's baby sister. But she has grown up, I'll give you that."

"She looks like a fucking model or something-"

Henry cuts off quickly as I near them, eyeing the two bottles appreciatively.

"She comes bearing gifts! Come on little Weasley, I don't think you are nearly drunk enough." Hen pulls both bottles from my arms before conjuring a shot glasses and pouring three full measures out.

"To still getting underage girls drunk- don't give me that look Hamish, it was a joke. Ready, Go!"

We throw the drinks back and only I wince slightly, both boys hardened to firewhiskey long ago. I giggle and shiver as the firewhiskey runs hot to my core.

"Shall we go?" I nod towards the portrait hole, as the last reveller climbs out towards the Room of Requirement.

"Yep. Just waiting for Maxmillian." Hamish gestures towards the boy's dormitory as Max's familiar, heavy step is heard on the stairs. "And, here he is. Let's go."

We clamber out of the portrait hole and Henry slings an arm around my shoulders, more to keep him steady than me and charms the shot glasses to hover ahead of us, so as to be able to drink and walk.

If only he had put his brains to this sort of stuff he'd be a millionaire by now. I mean he already is a millionaire so I guess it's irrelevant.

Drunk me may not be the genius I had always pegged myself to be.

* * *

 **2:30 am**

* * *

Holy shit. I have never seen the R of R this busy.

The Gryffindors were the last to arrive, each other house having arrived earlier as planned and Archie and Max were revelling in the attention, conducting a raucous game of beer pong in the centre of the dark, cavernous room.

I spied Grant when we first came in, but quickly lost him again as Cass and Spence pulled me in for a three-way dance off, an interesting fact, considering none of us can dance. Like at all. Also, remind me to tell Cass tomorrow that if your dress only barely covers the essentials, do **not** attempt to do the splits. It will either end terribly or horrifically terribly. Luckily Spence spied our best friend's intentions and lunged wildly to keep her upright.

If happiness was dancing wildly with my best friends in the world, I think I've reached it and it feels fucking good.

* * *

 **3:30 am**

* * *

Note to self; happiness is dancing wildly with your best friends when everyone is still on the good side of drunk. One minute everything was blissfully perfect, embarrassing dancing and firewhiskey swigging galore and next I find Ava holed up in a concealed corner hysterically sobbing.

"Spence! Spence? What's wrong? What's happened!" I chatter rapidly, anxiety swelling in my chest. "Are you okay? Where's Archie?"

She sobs again, pulling at me to join her and I kneel down, wrapping both arms around the shaking waif.

"Shhhh. You're okay. You're okay. I'm here." We rock gently as I rub slow circles into her back, as had she done many a time for me.

Her sobs decrease slightly and she gasps for breath, still visibly upset and absolutely smashed.

"Spence, can you stay here for two minutes if I go and find Cass? I promise I will be straight back." She nods slowly, one more choked sob escaping before burying her face in goose-bump covered arms. I disentangle myself, emerging back into the main room, trying in vain to see Cass amongst the mass of people dancing, canoodling and doing god knows what else.

I can feel the anxiety swelling still and I shake slightly with concern trying to find someone to help. Crossing to the abandoned beer pong table, I look still fruitlessly for Archie or Henry or anyone but to no avail, until a strong arm grabs my wrist and yanks me around.

"Dominique. I haven't seen you all night."

It's Grant. But his eyes are darting around wildly and he's not looking at me in the easy way he usually does.

"Have you seen any of the Woods?" I practically shriek to be heard over the music and he cups an unsteady hand to his ear in an attempt to hear.

Pulling forcefully, he leads me down a concealed hallway and into an empty, closed space.

"Do you know where Max or Archie are?" I repeat myself, trying not to betray how panicked I was.

Grant eyes me slowly before languorously swigging from the cloudy bottle I know contains something far stronger than novelty firewhiskey.

"Do I know where Max Wood is? No, _darling._ I do not." He advances slowly, forcing me to edge backwards.

"Stop." I push Grant away, the hand damp from Ava's tears leaving an imprint on his cotton shirt. "You're too drunk." I repeat myself as he inches closer, trapping me between the cool alcove wall and him. To his credit, he's not swaying or slurring, but the unfocussed pupils and predatory stance is enough to show that it's not normal Grant standing in front of me.

"But you look so _pretty_ Dominique," His breath smells like beer now, the normally kempt shaggy hair lying damp on his flushed forehead. He throws a lazy arm up and down my body. "Tell me this isn't all for Max Wood?" He's stopped advancing now but the broad shoulders still block my exit and I stand awkwardly, embarrassed at how exposed my neck and legs are.

"I see the way he looks at you. How they all look at you." He sneers. "And you act like you don't even see it." His laugh is low and dark, the humour echoed in neither his eyes nor face. He opens his mouth as if to speak again but instead drinks heavily from the cloudy bottle held limply at his side. "You're a tease Dominique. That's all you are."

The empty, rattling laugh again barks out and I wonder how no one's wondered where the fuck I am by now or at least why I'm not with Ava. Maybe it's the panic forcing my body into fight or flight, but the adrenaline kicks up and I square my shoulders to face him, his preying stance matched by dim, leaden eyes.

"You know what? You're drunk Grant. Or you're having a bad trip. But you're acting like a complete dick. So go to bed or jump off the Astronomy Tower, I don't give a fuck which. Just get the fuck away from me."

I push past his outwardly strong body, limp with the delayed reactions of excessive alcohol consumption, quickening my pace until the shimmery sandals slap against each concrete slab in rapid succession, My panicked breathing is shallow and non-relieving as two hot sobs bubble up from my throat and spill over into fat, angry tears. Furious, I wipe them away, annoyed at my anxious, churning stomach before pushing into the undulating throng of people still dancing wildly, my shoulders and arms jostled as people surge around. Craning left I can see that Ava isn't where I left her and I pray to god it's because she found Cass.

I crouch down and move as swiftly as possible through the mass again, trying to avoid empty, rolling bottles and smashed glass. I spy Kit on the edge of the circle, nursing a half-empty bottle in one hand and a teetering Olivia Lewis in the other. We catch eyes and I silently mouth for him to help me, as I'm knocked side to side along with the heavy beat pounding through the floor. Kit pushes in with far more success, the width and breadth of his body a promised advantage and wraps a strong hand around my upper arm, swiftly plucking me up and out before setting me down gently next to a hissing Olivia.

Oh sod off Liv. I've had one too many horny Hufflepuffs upset at me already, so I don't really give a fuck whether I'm ruining your night or not.

"Have you seen Spence?" I shout, attempting to be heard over whatever Weird Sisters remix is blaring out. "I was trying to find Archie for her, but I got side-tracked and she's so drunk and so upset-" Kit, bless him, strains to concentrate on what I'm saying, repeatedly brushing off a spitting Liv.

"Wait, Ava's crying?" His bemused face creases into worry lines and he cranes a neck trying to see over the packed room. "I think Archie went back to Gryffindor looking for her. They've probably just missed each other in the middle Dom."

I nod, in agreement. I'm sure he's right. Spence is beyond plastered and I wouldn't put it past her to run straight past Arch coming from the other direction.

"I'm gonna go check the common room, can you try and find Cass? I haven't seen her for over an hour."

"Yeah, course. Are _you_ okay?" He gestures to my eyes, which I'm sure are both red rimmed and covered in ruined mascara. I nod again, waving off his concern and move for the exit, pushing away grinding couples and wayward stragglers, their hollers of protest feeble against my defined trajectory. I reach the tower quickly and I'm sure the hurried passing of time can be attributed to the generous amount of alcohol still stagnant in my bloodstream.

The common room is deserted, all underclassman having been chivvied to bed hours before. Each squish armchair lies vacant, the fire's glowing embers spitting gently as if just re-stoked by an eager house elf still making the rounds.

Our dorm is also barren of either Ava or Archie, carelessly flung clothes still strewn over every cheery wood bed. Cassie's heated hair curlers have been left on, branding the matching vanity with an ugly, deep mark. I absent-mindedly tap them off, my heart rate ever rising thinking of how terribly upset Ava had been.

I rush back downstairs, skipping each second step and give thanks that I chose flat sandals rather than monstrosities that make me look like Bambi on ice, after she's had a few.

Drunk Bambi on ice? Absolute train-wreck.

Careering back towards the common room I look around wildly, hoping that Ava has materialised in the 20 seconds I've been gone. She hasn't. Fuck. Maybe she's with Archie in his dorm though?!

I've never been up the boy's staircase before and it's surprising how similar it is to ours, the dark stone lined with snoozing portraits and faded moving photos of old students. The seventh year dormitory's last landing on the left, and in my haste I accidentally stop outside the sixth year doors instead, the large wooden '6' is large enough to stop me before I blow in like a tornado and scar the slumbering boys forever. Although, knowing that lot, they're probably scarring everyone with their drunken antics right now anyways and not peacefully asleep.

The last flight of stairs is smaller, the walls engraved with various initials and parting messages of luck, well wishes and sexual conquests. The last crudely scrawled message is pretty grim and I wince noticing Vic's name etched in amongst the mess.

I forgo knocking, so sure that the entire dorm is fully engaged in blacking out from firewhiskey and absinthe shots back in the Room of Requirement.

So when I burst in and see a completely naked Lara balanced on Max Wood's hips, I almost throw up. In actuality I stand in the doorway, my roaring pulse overpowering the recurring slap of his skin against hers, the dorm dense with sweat and lust.

 _"Oh fuck."_

Lara's eyes grow wide when she notices me, her supple body slowing the erratic bouncing rhythm. She screams and pulls at the discarded sheet, trying to simultaneously hold it over her chest and push Max away from her.

"Dom!" Max's call follows me down the blurring steps and I land heavily in the Common Room bent over and heaving.

Fucking Grant.

Fucking Lara.

And now fucking Max _actually_ fucking Lara.

 _Vomits._

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_

 _I feel like this space is always me apologising for being rubbish at scheduled updates._

 _Basically I've had major writer's block as I felt I had lost the thread of this story slightly, however I am back on track and so thrilled to finally feel where it's going again._

 _Once again - THANK YOU so, so much to those who continuously review and leave lovely things for me to read. I've said it before, but they genuinely do make my day._

 _Let me know how you like this chapter and I'll do my best to keep the updates coming!_

 _:) :) :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Friday, March 2nd**

8am

* * *

"Dom, have a cup of tea. You must be freezing."

I shake my head mutely at Ava, praying that Grant, Max or Lara don't come down for breakfast before I can scuttle away. I play with the fraying holes in Dad's sweatshirt, pulling at the greying threads as my legs bounce uncontrollably.

Spence throws a glance at Cass who silently shakes her head and goes back to sipping at the green sludge prescribed by Avery. She grimaces as the vile acidic concoction washes down her throat before gulping loudly and swigging heavily from her water goblet.

"God, Avery really is a prick. I know I didn't get with him, but to poison me? That's a bit far."

A laugh leaps up into my mouth before I can stop it, finding hilarity in our woe-begone Cass.

Spence surveys her shrewdly, no doubt having heard identical whinging from Archie since the barbaric _"nutritional overhaul that will definitely win us the cup this year!"_ was imposed.

"And he's poisoning the rest of the team just to hide the fact it's really you he's trying to get, right?"

"Yeah, well. I didn't say he was a clever prick, did I?"

I go back to playing with the destroyed hem of my cuff, ignoring the farcical story Cass is concocting about how she always knew she would be a victim of a love gone sour. For some reason she's far more willing to talk about the doomed love Avery has for her, than why she was missing for three hours at the weekend.

I have my suspicions, but Ava bless her is completely clueless.

I feel a body behind me, the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hanging delicately in the air as two slim arms wrap around my neck, whilst a soft cheek rests upon my head.

"Hi Dommy."

Mindy slides in next to me, giving me a one armed squeeze and summons two of the beautiful starlit mugs from the top table to zoom over to us. Only she could get away with it, and she doesn't even give it a second thought.

"Here." She pushes the steaming coffee towards me, heaping two spoonfuls of brown sugar into the swirling depths. "Drink it."

It feels odd being mothered by the littlest Jordan but I cave and gulp at the scalding drink, feeling the vicious heat languorously wraps itself around my throat.

"Cassandra. Stop talking about Avery Jones. It's terribly dull. Just drink your drink and be done with it please."

"Um excuse me, this isn't even your bloody table!"

"Yes, but Dom looks sad and I could hear you being dramatic from my table anyways. Also I wanted to ask if you've heard from Sof? I sent her an owl a few weeks ago but haven't heard anything-"

"You little witch! I was not being dramatic! I was simply saying that I always knew I would be the victim of a torrid love affair-"

"Not being kissed and then running into a hedge is not actually a love affair Cassandra."

Mindy goes back to absent-mindedly playing with my hair and sipping her coffee at the same time. Unimpressed by Cass's dramatics, she enquires as to whether Spence has indeed heard from Sofia, ignoring her sister's huffing.

I smile gently, the coffee warming my brain. If Max and Lara are back together, I can just hide behind these three, simultaneously the best and worst smoke screen in the world. The smile slips slightly as images of Max moaning under the impossibly perfect Lara resurface. His heavy breathing and hooded, dark eyes, pawing at every inch of her writhing waist and full hips fills my mind and I shakily set the mug down once more.

"I'm gonna go shower, I'll meet you in second period."

Cass throws me an okay and Spence nods quietly, her eyes scanning my face for any tell of why I kept withdrawing. Min catches my hand and squeezes gently, before interrogating Ava once more as to when exactly she had heard from their ever-elusive older sister.

I pad through the great hall quickly, grateful for the early morning lull as people wandered into and out of breakfast like zombies, uncaring of who was doing what exactly.

The taps creak as I crank them further up than necessary, hot water squealing as it shoots down from the showerhead. I step under the stream, the dense jets sinking deep into my bones.

It feels a little like breathing out.

* * *

 **Sunday, March 4th**

11:15 pm

* * *

 _"_ _Geoffrey Groggle pioneered the re-fresher charm in collaboration with his long-time partner and close personal friend Wallace-"_

The tiny faded print blurs and I rub ferociously at my eyes, trying in vain to clear the sleep from them. Yawning widely I stretch both arms, enjoying the lengthening motion from my previous hunch back of the library persona. No wonder so many wizards wear glasses; the books are written in bloody miniscule hieroglyphics.

The library's almost deserted, thank god. After hours of fluctuations between silence and gaggles of girls, moaning over their essays and boys (mostly boys), the calm was a peaceful blessing. Madam Pince has long left me alone, knowing how fruitless it would be to try and uproot my cosy nest. It turns out having Victoire as a sister actually makes people think you must be as studious and conscientious as she is. Okay, well only Madam Pince thinks that but I'll take it.

Biting my nails ( _Sorry Maman_ ) I flip through the tome on the table. Simultaneously the dullest and longest book in the world, it seems I still have multiple pages to read before I can even attempt to start writing the homework. Mon Dieu.

An echoing thump reverberates throughout the silent library and I jump slightly, peering around the wooden bookshelf to see who has ruined my sanctuary of calm. A shaggy head and broad shoulders are hunched over Madam Pince's desk but speaking far too quietly to be heard all the way over here.

Madam Pince's mouth moves silently as she addresses the tall silhouette, before pushing away from her desk and shuffling in what appears to be my direction. I busy myself quickly with looking momentously devoted to Geoffrey Groggle, the nail biting now ferocious.

Fuck. The shuffling's slowing down right next to my table. Do I feign blindness?

 _"_ _Dominique. There is a gentleman at the desk for you. I have told him the library is closed but he may come over for two minutes, just this once if you'd like?"_

She even used my name. It seems I have to engage. "Sorry, who's here? Is it Archie Wood?"

I shake the hair out of my eyes and try to peer subtly behind her to see who exactly is looking for me so late.

"No, no. It is Mr McLaggen enquiring after you."

 _Shit._

"Umm, Madam Pince, I know it is really odd but-" how I can talk and devour my nails is beyond me, "-could you please, _please_ tell him that I left about an hour ago? I just have so much work you know, and it would be a distraction and I would hate to miss a deadline-"

She cuts the babble off with one wrinkled hand.

"But of course." She nods gravely. "Your studies are so much more important."

She shuffles away again, muttering about _'lovely Victoire'_ and ' _what good girls'_ and I exhale slightly. For some reason my heart is going like the clappers.

I don't want to see Grant. Not yet anyways.

I can't get over how dead his eyes were when he looked at me the other night. Sure, he may have taken something and yes he was probably just having a bad trip but I genuinely felt like prey that was about to be mauled and I don't want to engage with that situation right now.

I just want to do my charms work in peace. Lord knows I need to.

* * *

 **Thursday, March 8th**

2 pm

* * *

Ava stretches her freckled limbs and sighs happily, the balmy sunshine making her pretty as a picture.

"Why do they call it April showers? I see no rain."

Cass snorts gracelessly and props herself up to observe Spence, reclining in spring bliss. We have one beautifully sunny day, and Ava loses her marbles.

"You've got to be joking Spence. It's March you donut. No wonder there's no bloody _April Showers."_

"Oh yes, of course." Idiot savant nods sagely as if weighing up the information given to her. What a muppet.

She throws an arm over her eyes before turning and squinting at me, "Have you spoken to Max yet?"

Spence is on a roll today.

I shake my head, absentmindedly fingering the daisy chain I had been failing to make for hours.

"Noo, haven't really seen him around. Plus I don't think there's really anything to talk about."

Not only have I not spoken to Max or Grant, I've been doing a bloody good job of avoiding them both like the plague.

"Nothing to talk about! You guys are being really weird, especially with how friendly everything was pre-birthday extravaganza debacle."

I smile wryly, enjoying the warm sunbeams on my face and harking back to when my relationship with Max would have ever been deemed 'so friendly.'

"He was saying to Arch that you had made up just before we all went to the room of requirement. He seemed really happy about it."

That one stings abit. I breathe out slowly, the air whistling slightly. Suddenly it's as if I'm back in that tiny alcove and Max's breath is hot in my ear as he holds me close to him. Strong hands on my back and firm body holding us in place, together.

I shake my head again, trying to dislodge the image.

"Yeah, well. I don't know." _Super eloquent as always, Dom_.

I blink up from examining my crumbling daisy chain to see Spence breathing slowly and deeply, no doubt falling asleep but I can feel Cass's gaze still on me, her eyes narrowed slightly in inspection.

"You know what I think?" Oh she isn't asleep, how grand! Means I don't have to deal with Cass seeing straight through my less than convincing act.

She continues, "I think we should stay out here all day and when they come to get us we should run away."

Spence doesn't wait for a response before carrying on, "Okay, great plan, ladies. All systems go."

It's official. The last marble has fled. She's insane.

* * *

 **Monday, March 12th**

10 am

* * *

I wipe viciously at my burning cheeks the hot tears running freely and carelessly, dripping gently onto my shirt. Flitwick's gentle drone blurs into white noise from the other side of his desk.

I thought maybe when he had kept me behind he wanted to know how Vic was getting on again. Instead he wanted to chat with me about my most recent essay, which is somehow worse than all the others despite spending every night in the library for the past two weeks.

It's frustration more than anything else. Like, I work hard at something. Really fucking hard and it shows for absolutely nothing. Normally I would never cry over something as truly inconsequential as one piece of homework, but I had really wanted to do well.

Flitwick continues preaching about revision techniques and essay clinics but at this point all I want to do is run into a wall. He finally lets me go and I dart straight into the empty class room opposite and let the sobs wrack my already aching body.

What is the point of any of this, I clearly can't keep a boyfriend or hand in one piece of work that isn't terrible. I shakily summon the menthols from my bag and light up, not caring that I could get in serious fucking trouble for this. Moving over to the window I prop myself up on the sill, edging open the window and exhaling the smoking cloud outside.

 _Cry. Inhale. Cry. Exhale._

Happy Monday.

* * *

 **Friday, March 16th**

9pm

* * *

I sigh and settle back down into the armchair, crossing my legs and sipping at my ginger tea.

Ha. Just realising I sound about 500 years old. Although, actually I'm sure most people that old would be making the most of a Saturday night and not preparing for another night in the creaky library.

I've come to quite like the solitude though. Cass says I'm going to burn out soon if something doesn't give, even going so far as to ambush my run this morning.

Well, I say ambush. She threw her wand at me and mumbled;

"Mnnphmn. Dom. Back. Bed. You."

She's not exactly Shakespeare, but it was beautiful regardless.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply; employing some of the breathing exercises Maman had made us all do when our 'Veela' traits were flaring.

Burn out. Hilarious. To burn out you have to have actually been burning and at this point in time, yours truly is failing at everything. Fail out doesn't have quite the same ring to it though does it?

I laugh gently, amused at my own goddam wit before settling in for another three hours of charms hell.

* * *

 **11 pm**

* * *

I jump a mile as the chair next to mine is scraped out of its stillness and then freeze. Max has sunk deep into the leather seat and spread his legs territorially.

My heartbeat starts to gallop away and I wonder briefly if I can pass out here and now and wake up in a world where this _isn't_ _fucking happening._

He clears his throat and sits forward, clasping both large hands together and laying his gaze firmly on me. No doubt I am the colour of a sunburnt lobster.

"Look, Dom-"

My hovering quill has started to create tiny rivulets on the table, the ancient wood absorbing the dark ink, the tell tale stain spreading.

"I'm-"

He bounces one knee up and down and I'm transfixed by the motion, anything to not actually look at him.

"I'm really sorry about the other night. I didn't think anyone would be about. Especially not you-"

He pauses slightly, trying to meet my frozen, non-blinking eyes.

"Jack said you had left with Grant and everyone else was still there so I just thought there would be no one in the tower you know-"

Watching Max Wood babble is truly a sight to see. Somehow he does it far more confidently than I've ever been able to.

"But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Two apologies from him in two months. That must be some sort of record.

I push my hair behind my ear, my radiating cheek burning my hand as I do so.

"Okay."

He looks stunned as if expecting me to say something else. Little does he know, I have nothing else to say.

Max Wood can have whom he wants, when he wants. But he doesn't have to have me too.

"Right…. Okay then. Okay."

He stands slowly, pushing one hand again through his hair. I try to subtly slow down my racing heart, unable to hear anything over its cantering thumping.

"Cass is really worried about you by the way. She says all you do is run and work. And Arch says he hasn't seen you at a meal for weeks."

The heat is back again in force, spilling from my cheeks to my chin and down over my collarbones.

 _How dare he try to scold me for trying to be better? Trying so fucking hard not to be a total failure._

He bends down, his breath hot on my shoulder and I would scream if my whole body weren't completely paralysed.

"Don't burn out Weasley." And with that he leaves and I internally combust.

* * *

 _Author's Note!_

 _I feel like i'm always apologising for how long it takes me to upload new chapters but I am truly sorry. Classes end this week so hopefully i'll be able to get some more chapters down before exams start. Thank you as always for the lovely, lovely comments. They truly do make this whole thing seem so wonderful._

 _Please let me know what you thought, I know it seems a little dark at that moment. Happy reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Monday, March 19th**

6:40am

* * *

"Cass" I shake her sleeping form, trying to keep my towel turban steady with one hand and jostle her out of dreamland at the same time.

She stirs slightly, and peers at me through sleep lidded eyes. Thick ribbons of black hair stick to her forehead as she blinks slowly.

I keep my voice hushed trying not to disturb the other slumbering forms, more than I already have.

"What's the shrinking charm for clothes?"

"Mmmm-" She shakes away the hair and props herself up onto two elbows. "Um, reducio but you have to flick down at the end, I think."

She watches as I point my wand at my slipping skirt and whisper fervently. The material contracts quickly and finally the waistband sits flush against my stomach once more.

"Thank you! Go back to sleep. It's still before 7."

She mumbles what I think must be a cross between 'no worries' and 'no problem' but it sounds more like a grunt.

Grabbing my jumper and tights I tiptoe once more back into the bathroom preforming a _muffilato_ charm so as not to disturb the others.

My wet hair tumbles down as I yank the towel of, the dry ends glittering as they fall. I turn slowly to the right, examining with consternation the slight jut of my ribs above the thick tartan school skirt.

When the fuck did that happen.

I run a cool hand over the sharp protrusion, feeling a bubble of panic rise in my throat. I turn quickly to the other side and am struck by the same sight, sharp bone poking uninvitingly against my fair skin.

Memories of the summer after 4th year float back and I can taste the nourishment potions sliding down my throat once more. They tasted like full fat butter mixed with olive oil and salt and I had vowed to never return to a place where that would be my reality again and yet here I am slipping quickly back into that territory. Well, no longer. No fucking longer.

I muffle a frustrated scream and yank the thick woollen jumper over my damp head, pulling down with far more force than necessary. Hitching up my tights I narrowly miss ripping a gigantic hole in the fabric as I dressed with all the force of a hurricane.

Stomping back into the dorm I snatch the hairbrush from my bedside table pulling it three times through the silvery curtain and scowling at my reflection. It's not that I _haven't_ been eating, it's that I haven't felt the want to. The stress of avoiding Max, Lara, Grant AND Professor Flitwick has proved far more distracting than my rumbling stomach, which can normally be satiated by a covert trip to the astronomy tower for a ciggie or 3 anyways.

So caught up in my own inner musings I hardly hear Cass rattling around her own little area, bumping into anything and everything as is her wont to do.

" _Ouch_ " She bumps her hip against the solid oak bedside table.

" _OW_ " A stubbed toe on the bed post as she kicks around wildly under her bed for a missing slipper.

 _"_ _Oh for fuck's sake."_ The buttons of her school shirt prove too much to handle and the offending item is yanked unceremoniously off her back and onto the bed. She looks at me and I throw her my hoodie resting so neatly on top of our clean laundry pile.

It's not that Cass is clumsy. She's truly the most graceful flier I've ever seen, including Uncle Harry. He _says_ that's because now he sits at a desk 99% of the time he's lost some of the skill. Yeah okay.

It's because she has absolutely no sense of the mortality of her body. She can flip and tumble through the air without ever wondering how rock solid the looming ground is because she doesn't feel fear that way. She moves with such abandon through life that the bumps and scrapes are included with the approach. She feels fear in the sense of something catastrophic happening to anyone she loves but not for herself.

Said sprite emerges from the bathroom looking far more presentable than when she entered. Face washed, hair brushed and whilst her uniform is a little questionable (smaller than regulation skirt, men's sized hoodie, no tights and fluffy slippers) she's still undeniably beautiful.

"Breakfast?"

I nod and we pad down to the great hall, arms linked as we've done since first year when navigating these halls was a far trickier business.

At this early hour the great hall is deserted which is a blessing sent straight from Merlin himself. We settle ourselves nearest the fire so as to keep warm against the draughts circling each vaulted ceiling tile.

I scoop hot oats into my bowl, the pillowy clouds steaming gently in the glittery vessel. Professor McGonagall had outdone herself in updating the castle's 'décor'. Well Professor Slughorn and Trelawney had but Minnie had done a fabulous job supervising the raging showdowns between the two over place-wear and correct bunting for the 5th floor hallway.

Next sliced banana, chopped strawberries and pumpkin flavoured peanut butter are added to the glorious mess before I stir it all together with reckless abandon for the ruined masterpiece.

Cass chomps happily on her pumpkin parcels, the burnt orange cereal never appealing to me in the slightest.

"Don't turn around but Lara just walked in."

I fight the urge to immediately swivel round on the bench but instead lock my shoulders to stay staring straight at Cass.

"Alone?" I ask.

Cass nods. "But she's sitting with Heather and Liv."

My heart starts to pound with the same ferocity as when I walked in on her and Max in their more than compromising position. Taking a deep breath I resolutely plough on with my porridge, trying to chew the bubbling visions away.

"Why Max would get back with her is beyond me." Cass continues, "Yes she's stunning but such a doormat. He could say run into a wall and you know she'd only bloody well go and do it."

I snort into my breakfast at this, imagining the ever-perfect Lara running full-pelt into a brick cushion. My stomach sinks slightly at the truth of what Cass is saying; if they really are back together then Max is every bit as shallow as I've prayed he's not.

"Wait, so tell me. What did he even say to you last week?"

Cass has been at practice every night of the past week and so we've barely had a chance to indulge in our normal daily debriefs.

"He just went on about how I was _'burning out'_ and basically being a total failure at life before apologising about the Lara disaster." A slight exaggeration on my part but still the gist of Max's bullshit.

"You have been going pretty hard recently" Cass replies, narrowing her eyes at me in that examining way.

"Yeah I know" My porridge is getting an absolute battering from my spoon, "but I've just been so stressed about charms and then the Grant thing and THEN this weird Max standoff that everything's just kind of blurring around me at the moment."

"Oh Dommy." She tries to pat me over the stack of toast between us and instead knocks the entire thing on its side. I laugh, the sound gurgling up from the throat as she scrambles to right the offending item.

"It's alright. Vic wrote me back yesterday and kind of just put it all in perspective." I reach into my skirt pocket, pulling the neatly folded thick parchment from its safe place.

I pass it to Cass, easily avoiding the stack of teetering buttered toast and watch as he brown eyes quickly scan over the text.

* * *

 ** _Dominique!_**

 ** _Mon Dieu. Why didn't you tell me you had so much going on! I've written to Maman and she's sending you all my charms notes with Humphrey as soon as he's home from hunting._**

 ** _Firstly, forget Max. Hamish was the exact same way. He went through this phase of putting Sof through absolute hell before he grew up. They all go through this weird period of knowing what's best for them and doing the exact opposite. He'll come out of it eventually but for the meantime just leave him be. Honestly, it's for the best._**

 ** _Secondly, forget Grant. If I'd known you were dating him I would have written sooner. Obviously you are more than entitled to make up your own mind but I've heard some absolutely horrible things about that boy. We'll talk about it more when I see you but just keep a wide berth for the minute. _**

**_Thirdly, please come see me. I'm missing you and Louis so much at the moment. I know Easter's in the next couple weeks but I don't think I'm going to make it home. Karen has deadlines coming out of my ears and Teddy is absolutely snowed under at work._**

 ** _But please bring Cass and Mindy and we can have a little celebration with Sofia and lots of wine._**

 ** _I love you so very much ma petit souer,_**

 ** _V x_**

* * *

"I just love her." Cass carefully folds up the letter and passes it back, smiling slightly. "Let's definitely go see them over Easter, it sounds like she needs family time."

I nod along, agreeing completely, before voicing what had been circling my mind since receiving the note. "What do you think she heard about Grant?"

"No clue, but she would never normally be that serious if not a big deal" Cass replies. "Did you get any weird vibes from him?"

"Not at all!" I shake my head. "But to be fair it was kind of over before it started. I think I liked the attention more than anything else. I don't think I would have been able to get over it so quickly if it was anything serious." My cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment at the thought of being so self-indulgent but Cass has seen me at my very, very worst and this is nothing on the scale of our friendship.

"There are plenty more wizards in Hogsmeade" she says and I laugh at her sage expression, acting as if she has just imparted all the wisdom in the world upon me.

There are indeed Cassandra. There are indeed.

* * *

8:45 am

* * *

Ava catches up with us outside potions, clutching a scarf tightly to her neck.

"Guys. How the _fuck_ do you get rid of a hickey?" she frantically whispers sliding into the bench next to me.

"Ooooh let me see" Cass all but rips the woollen shawl from around her body, peering at the normally blemish free neck resting beneath. "Holy shit Spence."

I also take a peek in to see a giant rubicund bruise flourishingly happily into the size of a small peach.

She groans and grips it tighter to her body. "He is so dead."

Archie is going to receive fresh hell when she finds him that much is for sure.

"We got abit carried away because his dorm was empty and so-" She suddenly cuts off, looking at me with wide saucer-like eyes. It takes me a moment to realise why before understanding that for the boy's dorm to be empty all night, the occupants must have been somewhere else. Including Max.

I swallow a rogue butterfly and smile weakly at her worried expression, patting her knee. "It's absolutely fine Spence. I know they're back together."

She puts her small hand over mine, squeezing gently and continues. "And it all got a bit heated, and then this-" she points manically at her neck "happened and I look like I got mauled by a horny giant."

Cass splutters at Ava's forlorn face and then groans as she see's Slughorn cruise through the door.

He stations his rotund body at the front of the class, wheezing slightly with exertion.

"Good morning little cherubs. Time to buckle down after a weekend of terrible mischief I bet."

His twinkly eyes roam the room before stopping on Kit who's fast asleep behind an upright textbook.

"Well oh-ho then, we have one who has not quite left the weekend behind it seems! But now let's crack on – _accio homework!"_

Scrolls fly across the room and into his open desk drawer and we settle in for a long three hours of the theory behind the cursed scar-healing potion.

* * *

 **Wednesday, March 21st**

6am

* * *

I had to practically restrain myself from going on a run this morning but instead am forcing myself to stay in bed and reply to Vic's letter instead.

* * *

 ** _Salut Vic,_**

 ** _Maman sent the files yesterday thank god. Thank you so much! I'm pretty sure Flitwick was one red cross away from strong-arming me into remedial charms. You'll be happy to know that Binns gave me 99% for last term though, I practically fainted out of shock._**

 ** _How are you? You sound stressed beyond belief. Surely Karen can give you one day off over Easter!_**

 ** _I haven't seen Max but I think it's for the best. He's back with Lara anyways and you know how they are. PDA should be punishable by law. BUT Cass is SO up for some us time over Easter, we were thinking about coming near the end of the holidays before heading back to school? Let me know what dates suit best and we will be there!_**

 ** _I miss you so much and wish you were all still here._**

 ** _Bisous to you and Teddy, je t'aime._**

 ** _D x_**

* * *

Folding the parchment in three I summon an envelope from my trunk, scribbling her address in my loopy scrawl and sticking the letter inside.

I pull on Louis' old joggers and Vic's blush cashmere jumper, throwing my hair into a messy ponytail and creeping quietly to the door. Cass' bed is weirdly empty for so early an hour, especially because we both have a double free this morning so she either never went to bed or was up at the crack of dawn for one of Avery's conditioning sessions.

The castle is always deserted at this time and the wind whistles merrily as it races through the castle, spring light streaming in from un-curtained windows. The smell of fresh straw is a welcome reminder of summers spent at the Burrow and I tread the owlery stairs quietly so as not to disturb the inhabitants.

Coaxing a brown fellow from the top reaches, I attach the note and rub the top of his head affectionately, eliciting a gentle coo.

 _"_ _44 Mapleton Road, Shoreditch. London. The house with the yellow door, okay?"_

My owl friend neither acknowledges me nor dismisses me just sets his eyes on the window and soars out into the streaming sun. I'm always marvelled by their intelligence, its truly incredible.

Floating down the stairs again, I make my way down to breakfast, excited to carry on my stint of actually sitting down and enjoying a meal without having to avoid anyone. A massive bonus of being an early riser is that absolutely no one else is.

I tuck into toast slathered with avocado and a massive bowl of fresh fruit, enjoying the summery creations the house elves have whipped up with spring soon coming. Sipping gently on steaming green tea, I flip through the pages of a discarded Daily Prophet, which lays forgotten in the middle of the table. Oftentimes it seems if the front page isn't eye-catching the entire paper is dismissed as being pointless. Aunt Hermione would have a fit if she knew this went on at Hogwarts. I can hear her voice in minds eye wittering away;

 _"_ _What a waste of paper. I'm talking to Kingsly first thing about finding a more sustainable approach to this travesty."_

I snort into my drink, a worryingly regular occurrence and flip through the rag expecting to see at least a mention of one of my family members. Whenever a slow news day rolls around they think up some rubbish about one of us and then slap it in a headline to boost sales.

Jamie, Al and Lily have it the worst of all of us though. Their parents are repeated topics in gossip rags around the world, most speculating divorce, infidelity, another baby or all three in one breath.

A soft thud opposite me echoes gently as Ava sets herself down, replete with yet another scarf.

"Spence, you know its getting warmer right? People are going to start questioning why you're decked out like a snowman at all times."

She huffs loudly. "I know! I'm so bloody hot all the time but it just won't shift! I have tried everything Dom."

I reach across the table and softly pull at the fabric to see the bruise still there in all it's flagrant glory.

"Kit gave me this balm to put on it in the mornings, he said he swears by it but it's not working! Maybe it's out of date."

I stop myself from laughing in the face of Ava's anguish but I would put money on that _balm_ being something which ensures bruises stay around for longer rather than remedying them.

"Do you have it on you?" I ask.

She pulls a small tub which I recognise immediately but so as not to embarrass her I open it and peer at the waxy insides. Looking at the outside, I can see that the label has been pulled off in a hurry due to the tiny remnants of lime green plastic still stuck to the outside.

"Spence. This is hair wax. Louis has the same one. It's called _'Mr Stick'_ and makes whatever it's applied to stop moving."

Ava's usually serene face morphs from forlorn distress to consternation and finally to frustrated rage.

"What an ARSEHOLE!" She snatches the pot back and examines the insides once more, obviously recognising the substance inside as being similar to every other hair balm on the market.

"Who's an arsehole?" Cass interrupts, dropping gracelessly into the seat next to me.

Ava attempts to explain but a jumble of words come out before she emits a muffled scream into her scarf and slams the pot back down.

I pick it up and pass it to Cass explaining. "Kit told her it was to get rid of love bites but as we've just discovered it's a permanent sticking wax."

Cass' wide eyes look at me filled with humour at the situation but looks at Spence sympathetically offering non-committal comforting sounds. She pats Ava's shoulder with one hand and gulps coffee with the other, still shivering in her thin training kit. It seems the entire Gryffindor team and subs were training this morning, judging by the bedraggled bunch entering breakfast in drips and drabs.

"Here's the arsehole now Spence. Go and give him a piece of your mind." Ava looks as Cass points towards the doorway as Kit, Max, Archie and George stroll in, all adorned with that fresh pink glow from training in the fresh air brings.

Ava mutters a string of dark threats as she strides swiftly towards the trio. Archie obviously thinks his murderous girlfriend is coming for him and squares his shoulders against the oncoming battering he thinks is coming. However Spence bypasses her boyfriend completely instead veering towards the cheekiest boy, grinning next to him.

" _KIT_!" She grabs his arm and the towering blonde is all but dragged backwards by Spence's small but resolute form. His face is one of shock and dawning recognition as he grimaces at the boys, offering a mock salute as he submits to be pulled away.

Archie looks at Cass and me with confusion before settling down with George and Max further down the table. I find it so funny how boys don't really talk during meals. Well these boys don't anyways. They just eat and eat and eat and then leave. Sometimes they laugh which I find bizarre because what in the world are they laughing about if they don't speak! Weird creatures.

Cass witters on about training this morning, boasting proudly about her new personal best and that she even outflew Avery in the mobility challenges. I try and concentrate but am distracted by yet another presence entering the great hall.

Grant shuffles in with Jack and Miles, all trying to trip each other up with every other step. Again, boys are weird.

My eyes flick between Max to my left and Grant directly in my eyesight. After a week of ignoring both I had found myself smack bang in the middle of both of them. I wait for my heart to start trampling over my lungs but it doesn't come. I wait for my throat to constrict and it just doesn't come. My stomach only sinks slightly when Lara slides in with the boys and Max rests a protective arm around her waist, rubbing gently against her jumper.

I think that's mostly just learned from years of being jealous though, more of a habit emotion than a real one.

I turn my attention back to Cass, smiling as she recounts how at the last second she flew past the others to shave another two seconds of her previous best time around the course.

Ava's echoing shouts can be heart dimly from the entrance hall and I giggle to myself at the entire ridiculousness of the entire situation. The ball of anxiety in my stomach loosens slightly and I breathe deeply into the new morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own only the characters I create. The castle and recognizable faces are all J.K's.**

* * *

 **Friday,** **March 23rd**

 **6:00 am**

* * *

The clearing hums with morning life and I kick huge clouds of woody dust in the air just to watch them languorously float back down. Sunlight trickles happily through shafted trees as the lake sloshes slowly around. I exhale and enjoy the sensation of aggressively pushing all the air from my lungs.

My cheeks smart as Grant's face springs to mind as it almost always does recently.

He's tried to talk 5 times in the last 7 days. Each time I hustle off, pinching Cass' elbow or speeding up to walk with Archie, pretending I don't see him loitering outside of class. I do want to speak to him though. It's just each time the chance presents itself, I panic, that horrid heartbeat drumming through my veins.

The issue is, I don't know if I miss him or the attention. If I miss the attention I'm as shallow as I've always thought myself to be. If I miss _him_ I'm an idiot because everyone seems to know some great truth about him.

Fuck. My breathing becomes shallower as anxiety slips a sultry hand around my throat. Anyone will tell you, I hate confrontation more than anything in the entire bloody universe. My hands shake and for some reason I revert to speaking French, which works entirely zero per cent of the time in England.

I'm a runner. Always have been. Any type of confrontation, serious conversation or 'discussion' and I will bolt. Daddy found me on top of various cliff tops more times than I can count in fourth year. His face was so serious and sorrowful as he trudged up each time and brought me back home, replete with the warmest Weasley jumper he could find and a bear hug. I put them through so much pain that summer. Hot tears sting my eyes as I think back to the worry lines seemingly conjoined on their foreheads as they practically begged me to talk to them.

But.

That was then.

I'm so much better now. Even Cass says so.

I still remember her face on the first day of fifth year, set into determined, ferocious lines. She held my hand as we walked through the barrier and squeezed three time as the bricks dissolved around us. She told me it was a way to tell someone you loved them. I loved her in that moment. She stuck to my side as if we were conjoined for that first month. I couldn't do anything but sleep without her little face next to me and even then that was sometimes too much to ask for.

My heart fills as I think of how much Cass fucking does for me. And Spence. Just two fucking stars really.

Cass would go absolutely bat shit if she knew I was thinking about talking to him. She totally lost it when I told her including the surprise party Max, Lara and I had, where they were naked and back together and I was a moron.

Truth be told, Grant was probably having a shit trip. Taken something with Jack Emmory and washed it down with copious amounts of firewhiskey. And I don't blame him for it. Each to their own. But it was the dead stare. I've only ever seen a look like that once, and it was Teddy morphing into a werewolf when we were little.

Spence says that she hasn't heard much from Archie about Max. I know the boys had an argument of some sort the morning after their birthday because Ava hustled back to the dorm much earlier than usual.

She had crawled into my bed, her eyes red-rimmed and hair resolutely tangled. Apparently Archie had found her eventually, taking her to the Astronomy tower to let her cry out whatever her drunken mind was fixated on. We had whispered furiously under my duvet as I tried to make sure she was okay after running around half the castle like a mad banshee.

She had said that she was fine, but Arch had asked her to leave this morning, which was bizarre. But Max had come back from god knows where and Spence says that she knew it was time to go. Apparently their air had been like steel and the boys were one sharp word away from squaring up. Complete Scottish wild boys. Complete fools.

We spent the morning together that day and it was perfect. Just me and my best friends in the world and a heart that kept hurting whenever I thought about what had just gone before.

I should make peace with this Grant thing. If not for the only reason that he's a person too and I've offered him no chance for explanation. And also because the tiny part of my heart hurts too much to keep giving it to Max.

What does Granny always say? _'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.'_ I see her warm creased face and yearn to be back in the burrow with her and Granddad and lots of tea and love. Thank God for Easter next week.

I square my shoulders and stretch, allowing the relief to spread through my stiff arms and set off for the castle.

* * *

 **7pm**

* * *

 _"_ _So what did Lucy say?"_

Cass interrogates Ava over supper, much like a bad cop on a drug bust.

I, the good cop of course, take my time to ponder all the information, weighing up each individual iota of detail.

"Dom. You look deranged. Are you okay?"

 _Shit. Good cop is not suited for my face. Abort._

"Yes _thank you_ Cassandra. I was simply mulling over all the possibilities!"

She absentmindedly pushes her food around, piling mashed potatoes into haphazard mountains.

"I think Kit probably just got bored. You know what he's like." Spence, already tired of the conversation, picks at her nail polish, giant glitter flecks flaking onto the bench.

"Yes, but why would he bother to tell Liv there was someone else if he wasn't serious about this new one?" Cass is persistent today.

I scoff. Kit would never be serious about a woman that wasn't his own reflection in a wig.

"Look, all I know is that Lucy told me that Kit told Liv he couldn't see her anymore. So she tried to set his hair on fire but somehow managed to burn her own hand by accident. He told her she was a fucking maniac and that was why he had to end it. She told him she knew there was someone else, and he all but admitted it and took her to the hospital wing and now refuses to speak to her."

My mouth drops open. Where Ava compiles and stores this information is beyond me. She's the gossip equivalent of a prized antiques 'collector' who then recounts the tales for our amusement.

"Stop." Cass is clearly as stunned as I am.

"I know."

"No way."

" _Yes_ , I know."

The two goldfish gape at each other, although Ava's expression is clearly mocking Cass' gormless look.

I rub my hands together, reminiscent of a detective with a new vital piece of juicy information.

 _Well, well Mr. Macmillan. What have you been up to?_

* * *

 **Sunday, March 25th**

 **4:00 pm**

* * *

I pore over Vic's neat script trying in vain to understand how she perfected the Hinkley Hiccouph charm with such ease.

 _One flick down, with a slight twist to the left, simultaneously maintaining counterbalance stability._

I wave my wrist in lame imitation, accidentally snagging my tights in the process, drawing a trailing ladder up my thigh. Brilliant.

Kit sits opposite me, surrounded by more textbooks than I have ever seen a single person attempt to decipher. It appears that he has adopted a new method of trying to study for each of his classes, simultaneously. This feat would be helped massively if Ava weren't drawing ink tattoos on his forearm, the moving doodles flitting gleefully across his skin.

They whisper furiously to each other, lamenting over the fact they haven't got real tattoo ink with which to try and so instead pressing doubly hard with the regular quill nib.

'Holy fuck Spence!' A tiny drop of bright red blood drips onto 'Molecularly Magnificent Magical Potions'. Kit scans wildly around for Madam Pince's looming figure.

"Shit! Sorry, sorry. Wait I have a tissue!" Ava frantically rifles through her bag, finds a half-used pack of tissues and dabs manically at Kit's tattoo-gone-wrong.

"You two are morons." Archie whispers across the battered table and the two offending culprits jump, their bubble of artistic bliss burst.

Kit smirks and licks his thumb, rubbing the spots where the ink is still visible, erasing all evidence of their exploits. Instinctively he twitches to run a hand through his hair and the tiniest greeny-black splodge is visible inside the crook of his left elbow.

Spence, misses nothing and grabs at his limb inspecting the simplistically inked 'M'.

"When did you get this one?" She asks, twisting her neck for better vantage.

Kit stalls for a millisecond, shaking her off gently and pats the spot subconsciously.

"A few weeks ago. It's still unfinished."

"Ooh, I like it." Spence gushes.

"What does your lady friend think of it mate?" Archie grins and darts out of the way as Kit attempts to swing for him.

"Lady friend!" I echo, whispering furiously. "That sounds like she's a scarlet lady!"

"She likes it very much, thanks _mate_. Says it's very becoming of my fantastic physique, which I was gifted from Merlin and Dumbledore themselves."

"And what was her name again, I've forgotten?" Archie bolts forward but this time Kit's blow makes contact and he winces at the force of the knock.

"I'm telling you guys exactly jack shit. You will tell her all about my past misdemeanours and she will forget to concentrate on how charming I am."

"You really are the most self-absorbed prick, Macmillan." I retort, his smug grin practically stifling all air from the library.

"Now, now Dominique. That hurts." He thinks for a minute, his cheeky face in its element. "And something I just cannot allow to slide."

Jumping with supersonic speed, he plucks me from my seat and throws me over his shoulder.

"To the lake we go!" He makes great strides towards the door and I attempt to keep my top from flying up past my head.

Were it not a Sunday, Kit would have been kicked out long ago but the library was far rowdier than normal, with deadlines and mock OWLS in full swing.

"I have to see this." Archie scrambles from his chair, bags and books forgotten as he and Ava trail behind us. Of course they have to hold hands so we look like the weirdest procession of people to ever wander the corridors.

"KIT!" I squirm and wriggle as he resolutely ploughs on, carrying me as if I was a pesky broomstick and he was taking me out for a good fly.

"Arch, can you hear something mate?" I feel Kit's grin as Archie smiles wickedly at me in my most ungracious position.

"No mate, I can't hear a thing." Bastard.

"If only, IF ONLY, you had kept your horrible words to yourself my darling Dommy. If only."

He shakes his head in mock remorse and I pound at his back, the force making absolutely no difference to his Quidditch honed muscles.

The brisk, spring air makes my teeth to chatter and the thin long sleeve shirt proves to be absolutely useless at keeping in any body heat I once possessed. I had dressed for a day of library-ing, not being a sack of potatoes in the musical that is Kit's life!

I flail my legs, wildly trying to make contact with any part of Kit's body that is within swinging distance.

"Kit I am going to get pneumonia and lake-poisoning and die along in the hospital wing with no family or friends all because you threw me in this bloody lake!"

He snorts, clearly enjoying the dramatics and secures himself out of harms way from my kicking limbs.

We stop suddenly, the force jolting me upright and able to look into Spence's sympathy filled eyes before Kit propels me away from his shoulder and I ungraciously hit the water with the grace of a brick.

The water is like ice, murky black and chilling me to the bone. I splutter as water rushes into all available cavities and gasp as my face breaks water once more. Gasping wildly I push hair away from my face and tiptoe warily towards the edge, careful not to step on anything too slimy.

I shiver uncontrollably as my thin top clings to any part of me it can stick to. My feet are blue with cold as both my shoes are now giant squid and lake life fodder. Shit.

Spence rushes to me with Archie's sweater, all ready to try and bring me back from the depths of lake death, however I only have eyes for the two twits, who can barely breathe for guffawing. Kit receives mock applause from some 7th years that had been trying to enjoy some peaceful Sunday lake time serenity before our arrival, however now had some entertainment in the form of my death by hypothermia.

"Dom, I'm sorry!" Enemy number one approaches, arms outstretched to cuddle out our apology. His eyes twinkle and grin widens as I near them with all the grace of a murderer on the war-path.

I stand uncontrollably shaking and do the best impression of Maman I can muster.

"Demain. Tu meurs."

Kit's face drains as I bore into him, the full Veela force coursing through my numbed veins.

Then with all the power given to aforementioned war hero, I let out the first battle cry of our feud with the boys.

 _"EVANGELINE! AU CHÂTEAU!"_

My faithful ally disentangles herself from the clutches of Archie who was using her as a human shield and hustles us back up to the castle as quick as a shoeless-twosome can go.

* * *

 **8pm**

* * *

The common room is bustling, a ginormous fire roaring and gobstones flying as second years enjoy their pre-pubescent bliss.

 _No Michael, if the jack jumps six places you do have to forfeit!_

What twits.

Twirling one sodden strand of hair, still warm from the bath, I continue my letter to Maman, comfortably re-adjusting my legs on Cass' lap. She pays my leg absentmindedly, her brow furrowed determinedly on her own parchment. I scratch resolutely more ink blotted words, detailing exactly how charms was going (hideously) and how excited I was for it to be over (monumentally), whilst airily glossing over how much trouble Lou had been getting in.

Little cherub brother had cornered me after another recent catastrophic charms lesson.

 _..._

 _"_ _Ne dites pas à maman!"_

 _"_ _Hello to you too Louis!"_

 _"_ _Oui bonjour Dominique." He is frantic, having obviously bolted from whatever class he had just been in._

 _"_ _Mcgonnagall wrote to Mum, who wrote to me, who is now asking you to not tell her anything when she asks!"_

 _"_ _What have you done?" I examine his earnest face, the tie is knotted incorrectly and various pieces of his ashy blonde hair which appear to be singed by.. fire?!_

 _He swats my hand away as I go to inspect the flame tinged locks more closely._

 _"_ _Potions" he says by way of explanation. "Je suis en retard pour l'histoire de la magie, mais s'il vous plaît ne pas dire maman!" He continues before patting my head like a good dog and sprinting off._

 _Do not tell Mum anything. Hmmmm. Easter was looking more interesting by the minute._

 _..._

Yawning, I gingerly extract my legs, careful not to disturb Cass from the veritable tome she was penning.

"I'm going to go and get some chocolate from the kitchens. Do you want anything?"

She quickly glances up, unawares of anything going on around her.

"Ummm. Yes. Something sweet please. Preferably pumpkin. No liquorice."

Instructions given she returns to studiously scribbling onto the parchment and leaves me to find a chocolate quest alone.

I pad through the quiet stone hallways, the sconces burning comfortably low on a routine Sunday night. The tapestries are dozing after hearty Sunday lunches, replete with red wine by the gallon and numerous medieval concoctions of full-fat cream and lard.

I smirk at their languorous gluttony, each confined to reside in perpetual artistic luxury with little to do but eat, drink and heckle passers-by.

I turn left away from the kitchens and continue down hallways reminiscent of little rabbit holes, growing smaller with each passing step.

Now for the most uncomfortable part of the plan.

I lurk awkwardly around the corner, waiting for some unsuspecting first year to help me in my task. My nails are bitten down as I anxiously chew on the damaged skin.

Part of me wishes I had just called this whole palaver off and waited for him to find me again.

Luckily, the portrait swings open and a tiny first year tumbles out, missing the step down but righting himself just in time. I feel like a looming gorilla as I edge over to him, painfully aware of exactly how creepy the situation is.

"Hi!" My voice echoes around the cavernous round hallway, reverberating with no corners to die in. The little boy jumps out of his skin, observing me with as much trust as he might an axe murderer.

"Could I ask you to do me a favour?" Said boy is still cowering, frozen in shock.

"Would you mind jut popping back in there and finding out if Grant McLaggen is in please?"

His little eyes are darting everywhere, looking for any escape from the weird blonde predator lurking around the Hufflepuff Portrait Hole. Weighing up all his options and seemingly realising that his best bet would be back inside with his housemates rather than out here with me, he nods imperceptibly and all but sprints back inside.

I am the most unfrightening person ever. I don't even scare myself. Hence why I can never get any work done. I just don't take myself seriously enough to actually buckle down.

The portrait swings open once more and my heart skips a beat thinking the same tiny boy has come back to be terrified of me once more.

But instead Grant's easy form steps out and his face breaks into an uneasy smile.

"Hey, Dom."

I laugh nervously, acutely aware of how staged this entire meeting is now.

"I think you just really scared Tom Humphries."

I groan, my cheeks beginning to burn with flush as Grant's eyes twinkle good-naturedly at me.

"Yeah. I think he thought I was going to actually murder him. Or convert him to Gryffindor."

Grant laughs and the deep sound easily fills the silence.

I continue self-consciously, "I just wanted to know if maybe you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah, I'd really like that actually." His gruff voice is comforting.

"Okay, well I'm headed to the kitchens anyway if you wanted to join?"

I hug both arms around me to fight some of the draft creeping through the brick cracks and we head back towards the house elves kingdom.

* * *

 **A/N:** **French Translations**

 _"Demain. Tu meurs."_ \- Tomorrow. You die.

 _"EVANGELINE! AU CHÂTEAU!" -_ Evangeline! To the castle!

 _"_ _Ne dites pas à maman!" -_ Do not tell Mum anything!

 _"Je suis en retard pour l'histoire de la magie, mais s'il vous plaît ne pas dire maman!" -_ I'm late for History of Magic but please do not say anything to Maman!


End file.
